What was great about Wolfenstein was its simplicity. You viewed the game through the character’s eyes, and you killed Nazis. Plenty of them. Nazis here, Nazis there, fucking Nazis everywhere. And for this Jew, it provided a rush I never knew existed. It made me realize that although my mom and stepfather had sent me through conscientious objector status classes at Riverside Church every week for an entire summer, I was anything but.

Back in 1980, the year I was to turn 18, President Carter decided to start the draft again. Although there was no war happening, and there had been several years of peace, POTUS wanted to be ready. At 17, I was scared shitless. I’d have to go through boot-camp and get yelled at all day by guys like my father, only with worse breath, and I’d have to sleep in the same room with a bunch of other guys who’d see me change into my uniform.

This may seem like no big deal to you, but for me, it was devastating. I’d just reached puberty when Carter made the announcement that upon our 18th birthdays, we’d have to march down to the post office and wait in a very long line, with the slowest and dumbest people on earth helping one person at a time before going on 15-minute breaks to the bathroom, or to find packages. Later, a friend of mine who was lucky enough to break into “that business” told me all he did was smoke pot all day in the back office, and the postal workers actually had contests of who could be the slowest.

From: Blood, Guts and Health Packs | www.splicetoday.com