Have wealthy and educated Americans all become pacifists? Or have we just gotten used to having someone else defend us? What is the future of our democracy when the sons and daughters of the janitors at our elite universities are far more likely to be put in harm's way than any of the students whose dorms their parents clean?

Writer Frank Schaeffer ultimately asked those questions after his son, John, unexpectedly joined the Marine Corps.

As he put it: "My son connected me to my country in a way I was too selfish and insular to experience before. I feel closer to the waitress at our local diner than to some of my oldest friends. She has two sons in the Corps. They are facing the same danger as my boy. When the guy who fixes my car asks me how John is doing, I know he means it. His younger brother is in the Navy."

After several papers in the state editorialized against my decision regarding the Reserves, a retired Marine friend sent me an e-mail that contained Schaeffer's thinking. He meant it as reinforcement for my decision because Schaeffer's thinking mirrors my own. One of the strongest beliefs I developed over my six years in Congress was that we have disconnected the rights that go with being American from the responsibilities.

I chose to act on that belief by joining the Reserves after I got out of Congress because I have always taken action on things I felt strongly about. To me, people who talk about -- but don't act on -- things that are supposedly core beliefs are just talking. And talk is cheap. I happen to think we should reinstate the draft and that every person should serve our country for a short time, in either civilian or military service.

The drumbeat of the editorials was that I now have a bigger responsibility as governor -- and that I should therefore not deploy if my unit is activated. That I have a far bigger responsibility as governor is obvious. That the two jobs are not compatible over the long run I concur. But I cannot exit now. To leave in the face of looming troubles would run completely counter to my reasoning for joining in the first place.

As a dad, it would also send messages about commitment to my four boys I'm not willing to send. If you believe every American should serve and you leave because you now have a greater responsibility, does your "yes" mean "yes," and your "no" mean "no"? When our country is threatened 20 years from now, and my boys have the chance to get a law or medical degree and argue they would make a greater contribution by deferring military service, why shouldn't they? They shouldn't because in the long run, our country can't survive that way. They shouldn't because a kid who has no chance of getting either degree will be the one taking their place.

I'll be the first to admit this is not a perfect decision. Along with the editorial writers, I, too, wish I had not joined when I did. But it was a process set in motion by commitments I made to a recruiter at a time when I had no intention of running for governor. I thought about reneging on my commitment to the recruiter because of the way political opponents would attempt to make it look, but my wife gave me good advice and said forget the politics of the moment, stay true to yourself and think about it as if you were 80 years old looking back.

With that I forged ahead with something that could not have come at a worse time in the campaign. One weekend each month I was out at the air base while my competitors traveled the state. Not ideal from a campaign perspective, but we made it work, and we still won. Similarly, if our unit is activated, it's not ideal -- but I know we can make it work.

Ultimately, change is bigger than any one individual, and I believe the catalyst for that change starts with keeping your word.