For Our Fathers

Barbara Van Dahlen, Ph.D. is a licensed clinical psychologist and the founder and president of Give an Hour

Special to Veterans Advantage

My father was a Veteran of World War II. Like many young men of his generation, when the war began, he lied about his age in order to join the military. As a first generation American, he was proud to defend his country—and compelled to serve. He joined the Navy and fought in the Pacific. I know he was injured in at least one battle, but the details of his service are unclear because he never talked about his combat experience.

My father passed away in 1986, long before I was aware of my desire to learn more about his experience. With three older brothers, I am the youngest of four. My father never talked with them about his combat experience either. I do remember dinnertime conversations and many stories about his time in the service—often funny, always fascinating, sometimes poignant. He was proud of his service and spoke affectionately about his buddies and the lessons he learned. He also spoke of his admiration for the officers under whom he served: he looked up to these men and felt a powerful desire to impress and please them.  And he loved the discipline, the rituals, and the pageantry of life in the military.

Although he liked to tell tales of a feisty young sailor who occasionally got himself into trouble by “mouthing off” to superiors, my father must have served honorably. Looking back at his life I see it could not have been otherwise. He lived his life with tremendous integrity and principle. Strength of character, honesty, generosity—these were the traits my father valued most. He respected hard work, diligence, dedication, and commitment. These were values he instilled in his four children, after having developed them while serving in the military.

Although he never talked about his combat experience—or the lives lost—my brothers and I knew that he had suffered during the war, that there were scars we couldn’t see. Sometimes, in response to what seemed to be minor irritations, my father’s temper would flare. It was as if he entered some kind of alternative state of consciousness and was no longer able to think clearly or respond to reason. Though it rarely occurred, he would sometimes erupt with a rage that seemed so extreme and felt so ugly that those of us on the receiving end were left shaken and wary. To his credit, my father recognized this ugliness and always apologized for the violation. He was clearly distressed by this loss of control. He loved his children and was deeply troubled when he frightened us or caused us pain.

I do not know if my father had nightmares or flashbacks. I don’t know if he suffered from some of the other signs and symptoms that we now associate with post-traumatic stress. I suspect that perhaps he did. These were issues that were not understood and were never discussed when a serviceman returned home during World War II. Family members who welcomed their heroes home from that war certainly saw the change in their husbands, sons, brothers, and friends. Sometimes terms such as “shell shock” or “battle fatigue” were applied to the worst cases. Family members also clearly suffered the secondary effects of war, sustaining their own injuries and developing their own symptoms.

Of course, we now know that many many men who came home from World War II—as well as those who have returned from every other military conflict before and after—suffered from the consequences of war. While we know far more today than ever before about how to respond to these invisible injuries, we are still way behind the curve, trying to catch up by improving education and care while reducing stigma and shame.

Our country celebrates Father’s Day this month. Naturally my thoughts turn to memories of my own father, what he taught me, what I miss about him. I am also aware of the fathers who are currently serving our country, as well as those who have come home from war. I am aware of the many military families in our country that have both fathers and sons who have served, who are serving. I am aware of the profound impact of war on the relationships between fathers and their children. I am aware that there is more that we can do—more that we must do—to provide the level of care these returning warriors need and deserve.

Soon after founding Give an Hour™, I began receiving e-mails from the children of Vietnam Veterans thanking me for starting an organization whose mission is to heal the wounds of war. These now-grown children shared heart-wrenching tales of life with fathers who had suffered the brutality of war and returned home to a nation that treated them as if they were war criminals. These sons and daughters spoke of lost childhoods, of alcoholism, of physical abuse, and of recognizing that our country had abandoned their families. Surprisingly, these messages were rarely accusatory; more often, they were appreciative and hopeful. It was as if these men and women knew that we as a society were ignorant about the trauma of war and had failed to understand the destruction caused by the ghosts that followed their fathers home from the jungles of Southeast Asia. Clearly, many had come to terms with their own experience. Rather than feeling like victims of the war, these children of Vietnam veterans were focused on sparing the next generation of military children from the pain they had endured.

While we do know more about the reality of war and about the psychological consequence of combat, we continue to struggle with how to care for those who return with psychological injuries.  Most of us don’t know how to enter into conversations about these injuries. Much the way we avoid conversations about cancer and sexual abuse—leaving those who have suffered these horrors feeling as if they are to blame—we are afraid to talk about invisible injuries such as post-traumatic stress, depression, and anxiety with those who serve our country and come home with these painful wounds.

On Father’s Day we recognize the special relationship between a father and his children and we celebrate those qualities that we associate with being a good dad: strength, competence, commitment, and stability. Our fathers are often our first heroes and we look to them to protect and defend us. But what happens when a father is suffering, when he is struggling with the consequences of trauma, of war? Does this mean that he is less of a father? Does it mean that he is no longer able to love and protect his family—or his country?

Perhaps we can modify our notion of what it means to be a good father, a good soldier, a good man. Perhaps we can learn how to talk to our husbands, sons, brothers, and friends so that they know we can tolerate their struggles. They need to know we see their strength through their pain. As too many children of war veterans know, our fathers didn’t know how to heal their invisible injuries and couldn’t ask for help. We must not let this generation of fathers suffer the same fate.

Give an Hour, providing free mental health services to military personnel and their loved ones, at www.giveanhour.org.

Editors Note: Give an Hour is a strategic partner of Veterans Advantage. Learn more about our partnership with Give an Hour.

Veterans Advantage is also hosting a special online PTSD Transition Center for its members, with customized news and resources to help in this vital area.