I turned eighteen on July 5th, 1968. On that day, along with my cake and presents, like every other young man in the country who shared the same birth date, I received the privilege of registering with the Selective Service. There was a war going on in a place called Viet Nam, which was somewhere in Asia, a continent I had found little reason to consider until then, other than to be able to point it out on a geography exam in grade school.