Thirty years ago I dodged the draft. My number was 46, I lost enough weight to flunk my physical a number of times, and after a year they stopped trying to draft me. The bottom line is, I didn't stop the war, and someone with the number 95, born July 20th, had to go in my place. I don't know if he saw action, I don't know if he survived. I do know that what I did changed someone's life, and that was not my right. It is hard to imagine how we effect others by our actions, but because we don't think things through does not take away our responsibility. Number 95, I am so sorry.