In my senior years, it has struck me that we make many of our life-affecting decisions when our heads are full of mush and we know so very little about life. In other words, between 18 and 25 years of age.

Those are the years when we confidently decide things our older selves will spend the next 60+ years living with.

I recently had the privilege of speaking with my grand nephew in med school, struggling to decide which branch of medicine to pursue. I also spoke with an honor student in law school wondering what field of law to follow.

But those aren’t the only weighty decisions made with mush for brains.

• Who will I spend the rest of my life with?
• Where should I spend it?
• What do I want to do with my life?

It’s a true Crap Shoot, with similar probabilities of success.

For any healthy young man of my generation, one life-affecting decision had already been partially made. At age 18 you were required to register for the draft. You were going to serve somehow.

You had three primary options.

1. You could wait to be “drafted.” That meant at least two years as a U.S. Army enlisted man.

2. You could join the Reserves. I called that the six-month, rest-of-your-life plan. Six months active duty. Then you were in the Army Reserve Corps and could be called to duty for several years. Perhaps in the midst of a promising civilian career. Or at a very difficult time to be yanked away from your budding family.

3. Or, if you were in New York City and fortunate enough to be accepted into Queens College, one of five essentially free colleges in that city, you had another choice.

I was standing with my best friend, Oleh, talking. I looked across the campus about 50 yards and saw some young men in blue uniforms marching and drilling.

“What’s that all about?” I asked.

“Oh, that’s ROTC,” he said. “If you join and stay in that program for your four years here, you will be commissioned in the Air Force as an officer when you graduate.”

Hmmm. I liked the sound of that.

Within a week, I had one of those blue uniforms and was enrolled in AFROTC. That’s Air Force Reserve Officer Training Corps. I took an elective class called Air Science in which they taught you about our Air Force, military customs and way of life, aviation and the art of war — all subjects I knew absolutely nothing about.

During my short time at Queens College I learned a lot. I especially relished my time with my ROTC colleagues, many of whom are still dear friends some 65 years later.

As it turned out, that moment — that glance across a college campus by a young man with mush for brains — was the spark that ignited a rewarding, somewhat successful 30-year career as an Air Force officer.

But sparks don’t burn long without tending.

In my junior year, after being accepted into the Advanced Corps of AFROTC, which essentially guaranteed a commission, the program at Queens College was discontinued. But…Brooklyn College still had AFROTC.

Welcome to a two-hour commute each school day.

That was my first real test.

Was this just a whim… or was I committed?

It was more than worth it.  At Brooklyn College I came into my own. I commanded a military honor fraternity, earned high enough grades to become a Distinguished Military Graduate, and received a “regular” commission instead of a “reserve” commission. Just a bit more job security.

The decision mattered…but sticking with it mattered more.  God bless the Air Force and the USA.

Enuf.