PTSD - Not Just Soldiers

“Shoot the son of a bitch!,” my father yelled at the screen. It was embarrassingly clear to everyone in the theatre that Dad was caught up in the movie. But why did he have to scream that out?  

I guess most of the people there cut him some slack. Because of his age and the wheelchair, I’m sure many of them figured he was a vet.  They were right.  Nevertheless my wife, my Mom, and myself were ashamed by the outburst.  But I should’ve known something like this might happen when I talked Dad into going to see Saving Private Ryan.  

The scene that had such an effect on him was a particularly intense one.  Many of you will recall it -  during a skirmish with the enemy, a GI medic was shot and killed. The victorious Americans took the lone German survivor, and gave him a knife to dig a grave.  Then they planned to exact revenge by shooting him. But Tom Hanks showed mercy and spared his life, which later in the movie would cost him his own. 

My father liked this movie - he said it was the most realistic depiction of World War II he’d ever seen.  It also had an unusual effect on him: the next day he talked more about the war than he ever had before.  As you know, most veterans of World War II don’t openly speak about their experiences.  Knowing this was a window that didn’t open often, I took the opportunity to ask a few questions. 

First, I asked Dad specifically about a scene in the movie on Omaha Beach.  It was when when an American sergeant told his men not to shoot the Nazis jumping from their pillboxes after they were doused with a flamethrower. “Let ‘em burn!”, he said. 

“Did things like that really happen?,” I asked. 

He replied directly and honestly.  “Yeah they did.” Then he continued. “And don’t think the Germans were the only bad guys. The Americans did some terrible things too.”

My interest, now piqued, wanted him to continue. I said, “Like what?”

To my complete surprise, he answered my question. 

“Well, you know that part of the movie when the Americans were going to shoot that Nazi who killed the medic?”

I nodded. It’s wasn’t too difficult  to remember the scene when your father screamed out an obscenity.

Dad continued.  “Well something like that happened to me.  I came upon a bunch of our guys standing over the body of a German. Seems he shot the company’s Chaplin in a skirmish.  So the GIs captured him, formed two lines, and stood him up. Then the sergeant  shot him in the kneecap with his .45, and made him walk while the others bayoneted him to death.”  

I sat in sickened, stunned silence.  This was too horrible to hear - how much worse would it have been to have actually seen it?   For Dad, it was no movie - there was no director yelling, “Cut!”, to stop the action.  This really happened. What else had he seen, or for that matter, done?  At once, I realized that war can dehumanize you, regardless of what side you are on. 

I ended the conversation and we never spoke of it again. But this story has haunted me for years.  

My Mom often told me that the man who returned from the war was not the same person who left.  I knew physical pain accompanied my father all his life because of the gunshot wound he sustained at the Battle of the Bulge.  But there were also unseen wounds that manifested themselves - outbursts of anger, excessive drinking, and nightmares.  Back then it was called battle fatigue, and those affected by it   were pretty much left to deal with it as best as they could.  Some drank, some did drugs, some turned to Jesus Christ, some even killed themselves.   Now it’s known as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD, and we know so much more about it.  There are a number of new treatment options that are making a difference to our veterans. Unfortunately, they weren’t available for the Greatest Generation.

I’ve read a lot on PTSD lately.  It’s very real.  While it’s not an excuse for bad behavior, it certainly could be a contributing factor. And PTSD is not limited to just soldiers on battlefields.  Almost anyone who has experienced a traumatic, life threatening event could have it.  

So, it’s no surprise that my oldest son has the disorder.  Besides being shot point blank in a home invasion, he literally fought for his life in a maximum security prison.  It’s ironic that I dealt with PTSD as a child with my father,  and now I’m dealing with it as a father with my son. At least now I have some meaningful knowledge about it’s cause and cure. I hope and pray he will continue  seeking therapy and will get this particular problem in his life minimized.  It affects the whole family. 

In the meantime, I will be sure not to go to the theatre with him if a prison movie is showing. 

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