Back in the 80s, which comprised most of my teenage years, the United States had a big evil enemy. An Evil Empire, nonetheless. The U.S.S.R. The Soviet Union. Damn Commies. And because of this threat, we were continually building new missiles and satellites and jets and bombers and all sorts of neat things to kill those damn commies.

I believed, when I was a teenager living in Eastern New Mexico near one of the premier Air Force bases in the country, that the evil empire would eventually decide that us capitalists weren't worth keeping around anymore. And I also believed that it would be the Soviets who struck first, because they were evil and we, being the good guys, would never strike first. Maybe the same thing was true about teenagers in the U.S.S.R., but all we knew about them was that their rock bands really sucked.

Cannon Air Force Base was the home of F-111s. These were cool trick fighters. Fast, maneuverable and they had those three 1s in their name. Because of Clovis' proximity to Cannon (which was approximately in the middle of the wide open space between Clovis and Portales, meaning both towns claimed the base as part of their town in spirit), the city was frequently testing our first-alert equipment. Air raid sirens would go off on Wednesdays at 5 p.m. Like clockwork. No cause for alarm when it was a Wednesday at 5 (or near that). But what if the dreaded thing happened. What if that air raid siren went off at a different time?

This was the overwhelming fear of my childhood. I really thought we were gonna get bombed. Obliterated off the face of the Earth. That evil empire was cooking up an attack and I knew, because we were near all those neat F-111s, we were gonna get hit in the first attack.

This was a vaguely romantic death for me. I'd seen The Day After (and had terrible nightmares), and I knew what it was gonna be like if we survived the first wave. That didn't look like much fun. Using horses like cars, purifying any water we needed, and watching as everyone slowly and painfully die of the slow radiation. The quick way, just being close enough to those bombs when they went off, seemed like the better way to go, but it didn't make me feel better about it. It just made me worry about whether or not I'd be able to see it all happen. The mushroom cloud. The suck and rush of the explosion and finally the push of heated radiation as it spread on the ground.

I had many dreams about seeing the tell-tale mushroom cloud explode, and I always woke up soon after. Always waiting for the final sizzle that never came.

And now we're debating whether or not the U.S. should sign a no nuke testing treaty. The treaty would mean nothing if we don't sign it. We have the most nukes by far. We built and built and kept building until and even after the U.S.S.R. went bankrupt and turned into 20 different countries squabbling like pre-W.W.II Europe. If we tell the world we don't want to stop testing, we are basically saying that we're still thinking someone is gonna get bombed someday.

And maybe this is the message that the congress wants to send. Don't mess with us, we're the U.S. and we're crazy.

Have we learned anything?

It's been years since we've had a Big Bad Enemy. There is no country on the planet that would realistically pose a threat to us. Not one. And everyone thinks we're crazy anyway. We spend our money like no other country in the world, jack ourselves into the computer, get in our S.U.V.s and rumble down the paved highway's like they're dirt roads out of the dust bowl 30s.

We're the only country with drive-in anything. Everyone else in the world parks their car or just walks to the restaurants and pharmacies or grocery stores, but we drive up, idle for five or ten minutes and wait for the food or drugs or beer to be ready. And we think we're saving time.

There is no other country in the world like this. And that's why everyone is afraid--and somewhat intrigued--by us.

If we sign the treaty, everyone else will too. This doesn't mean that it won't be violated by some other country--or even by us--but it does mean that we're trying.

We're trying to really raise a group of kids who are not in fear of getting incinerated by nuclear bombs. They won't have to check their calendars if they hear an air raid siren. And they won't wake up in the middle of the night with mushroom clouds in their eyes.

No country is ever going to launch a large scale nuclear attack against us. The big US. We don't need Star Wars and we don't need actual testing. We've got other ways to make sure those missiles that we're never gonna use still work. And we should be content to tinker with that.

The last 50 years have taught us this. If there was ever a time when countries were actually ready to obliterate the world, it was in the last fifty years. But those times have passed. Threats are not that big anymore. If there are legitimate threats at all.

So the lesson has been taught. It's just our time to show what we've learned.

Matt Worley always had a tough time understanding the reason behind the mathematics mantra of "show your work."