I’ve been carrying around my draft card for the last 32 years.

Really, it’s right in my wallet.

Don’t be telling me how ridiculous that is. With all this talk lately about what John Kerry and President Bush did during the Vietnam War, a guy never knows when some fellow in a uniform might tap him on the shoulder and demand to know his draft status.

Well, I’ll be ready when that happens.

"Yes sir. Here you are, sir. Sorry it’s a little worn out, sir, but then again, so am I. It says right there: Sam (No Middle Initial) Pollak. Selective Service Number 8 169 50 146, sir. Classified 1-H on March 23, 1972.

"May I add, sir, that if this country needs my 54-year-old body on the front lines, this country is in a world of hurt, sir."

Actually, the draft ended at the end of 1972, and fortunately for the republic, I don’t think my services in the armed forces will be required any time soon.

They weren’t required back in 1968, when I registered for the draft May 28. I still have that card, too, reminding me I weighed 50 pounds less when I was 18.

I was one of the lucky ones. I didn’t have to go to Vietnam. I was as patriotic as the next guy and dumb enough to buy into the government’s "domino theory" that if Vietnam fell, the Commies would take over every country in Asia.

I didn’t like it when I saw TV images of young men burning their draft cards. But on the other hand, like Vice President Dick Cheney, I had "other priorities" than enlisting.

Like virtually every other male from my high school, I got a student deferment when I went to college. That was easy. As long as you were in school, you wouldn’t get drafted.

On Dec. 1, 1969, a draft lottery for about 850,000 men born between Jan. 1, 1944 and Dec. 31, 1950 was held. There was this big glass container (I’m not making this up) with 366 blue plastic balls containing every birth date (Feb. 29 leap year babies were not excluded) for men between 18 and 26 years old.

The sooner your birthday ball was picked, the greater your chances to be wading around in a Mekong Delta rice paddy.

I remember several of my buddies nervously counting down the days until the lottery, but I paid it little mind.

Obviously, I wasn’t too bright.

As a matter of fact, I didn’t even find out about my lottery number until the next day. One of my friends breathlessly asked me how I made out, and I didn’t even know.

Any number below 150 meant you stood a good chance of being drafted early in 1970. As it turned out, the highest number to be drafted that year was 195.

My number was 278.

I didn’t have to go.

I was classified 1-H — "Registrant not currently subject to processing for induction."

As the war wore on, like many other Americans, I didn’t see where it made much sense. It seemed like such a waste of human life, much like what is going on today in Iraq.

We propped up a puppet regime in South Vietnam — just as we are doing in Iraq — with the lives of our soldiers and vast amounts of taxpayer money.

Neither rationale for war made sense. North Vietnam and the Viet Cong won, and communism did not take over the world. No weapons of mass destruction have been found in Iraq.

Because of Iraq, some people are starting to get a little nervous about the draft possibly being reinstated. Men still have to register when they’re 18, and you just never know.

The government sent me my last draft card in 1972. That’s the one I carry in my wallet. I have a son who’s 16, and I don’t ever want to see that kind of card with his name on it.

He might not be as lucky as I was.

Sam Pollak is editor of The Daily Star. He can be reached at spollak@thedailystar.com or (607) 432-1000, ext. 208.