PA09-Happy 4th-Let's do something real for our Vets

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Wednesday July 04, 2007 · 8:36 PM PDT

2007/07/04 · 20:36

I've had a great 4th weekend. I took a couple of days off to expand my kids playpark in the back yard. The story I'm about to tell you has been burning in the back of my head for the past couple of days.

I'm not a vet. I was never in the armed forces, but here is my vet story.

Chuck Sitar was a vet. He served in Vietnam. He was my first football coach. He had a head like a 30 lb. bowling ball with a pair of fists to match. With a lit stub of a cigar clenched between his teeth, he would bellow obscenities at us 8 year olds to hit him harder while he held the the blocking dummy. Terrified, I hit him like all hell. For the next 5 years depending on what team he was coaching and what team in the program I was playing for, he was my coach. I've learned much from many coaches and teachers over the years, but education ends up shining through the prism of your base. Life is filled with mean SOB's, and it's going to be scary. But, when you have a job to do, you must do it.

After I moved on from the local peewee football program to high school and college, I got to know Coach better because he joined the local men's service organization that my Dad belonged to. Yes he was a mean SOB, but he had a heart of gold. He cared about kids, and he cared about his community. He coached youth football long after his kids moved past the program, and he spent a lot of time working in the community to make it a better place, hence the membership in the service organization. Whenever I tried to call him Mr. Sitar, he would say, "Call me Chuck, dammit!" We finally settled on Coach as a reasonable means of address.

Shortly before the end of my Junior year of college, I came home for my Dad's 50th birthday party. Beer was flowing, and we were having a great time. Coach cornered me out by the keg. Though he had aged too, he was still imposing, a huge block of a man with the aforementioned bowling balls stuck to him. Coach spoke, "So you're studying psychology, huh?" "Yes." "Maybe you can help me then." At this point, this bear of a man broke down sobbing. He told me about his nightmares. He told me about how 20 years later he still drank himself to sleep every night. And he asked me for help.

I have to admit. I was floored. I wasn't ready for this. I was 21 and didn't know anything about anything. I stammered and mumbled and BSed something. Coach died a couple of years later due to the cumulative effects of 20 some years of self-medicating his PTSD with alcohol and tobacco. I didn't have the knowledge, the foresight, or the gumption then to help. I'm not going to make that mistake again.

Recently, I heard a report that the army is attempting to disallow Iraq vets PTSD claims saying that they have "pre-existing" conditions that our responsible for their current mental health problems. This is Bullshit. Men and women put their lives on the line for this damn war and the thanks that they get is to say sorry you were broken before we sent you to die. I'm sorry but all the flag waving, the pledge reciting, the yellow ribbon wearing, and the support our troops saying does not mean jack if the men and women who serve overseas wearing our uniform are not afforded the best care both physical AND mental when they come home.

I hope you all had a great 4th. I enjoyed myself with my family. Let's get back to work fixing the things that are broke with this wonderful though sometimes misdirected country.

This diary has been cross posted on Mydd.

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