Guns, a Plane Ride, and War

Guns, a Plane Ride, and War by Susan R. Johnson, MD, FAAP 5/22/09 www.YouAndYourChildsHealth.org I recently evaluated a kindergarten-aged child who began having physically and emotionally violent nightmares since November of last year. In her first nightmare, she and her classmates were standing up against a wall and their teacher was shooting at them. In her kindergarten class, gunplay had been allowed in the playground for most of the school year. According to her parents, children were shooting one another, sometimes in the back, with “imaginary” automatic weapons. Her parents wanted her out of that kindergarten class. There were other kindergarten classes at that school where the teachers did not encourage gunplay and usually redirected it. The parents wanted my help and advice. I remember when this issue came up with my 5 year old son. I attended a class at the Children's Health Council in Palo Alto where a psychologist discussed gunplay as being normal and part of the “healthy” development of young boys. Somehow that argument has never made sense to me. I thought about the current state of our world and our relationships. I thought about what Martin Luther King, Gandhi, Buddha, Christ and the Dalai Lama would have to say about this topic. I knew that if you made gunplay “strictly forbidden” and showed a strong emotional reaction to it, then the child would actually be drawn to the activity. Yet, gunplay was so easy to redirect. Just stating in a matter of fact voice that it was never okay to hurt another Human Being was enough. We did have water filled toys for squirt fights and my son received a gun with suction darts one time for his birthday, but shooting at another Human Being was never okay. Interestingly, my son's early exposure to gun play was an invitation to a classmate's birthday party. The entire class of 5th grade boys spent several hours firing paint balls at each other. Frankly, that activity didn't make sense to me either. I pondered over all of these questions as I boarded a plane for the East Coast where I was invited to speak at an elementary school about the seven essential ingredients for a healthy child and healthy family. The young man who sat next to me must have been in his mid to early 20?s. He could easily have been my son. He told me that he had just finished a second tour in Iraq and was on a 21 day leave. He was traveling all over the United States to see everyone, family and friends, that he had ever known or cared about before he had to return. He was going to be sent to fight in Afghanistan this time. I thanked him for going to Iraq. I shared with him that my Grandfather had taken care of soldiers that had survived the Bataan Death March. My father-in-law had fought in the Army during World War II and my Dad had served later as a ship's doctor in the Navy. I asked him what were the hardest things he had to endure while in Iraq. He talked about not being able to bathe or shower for 70 days at a time and explained why Baby Wipes were so appreciated. He was grateful for the Girl Scout cookies, Starbucks coffee, and Gatorade though also said one of his comrades just had six cavities! He was moved by the outpouring of care packages that they all received from people they had never even met. I asked what he missed the most thinking he would talk about something he missed from his home town. He told me, that as strange as it may seem, what he missed the most right now was his gun; even though he didn't want to miss it. “You see”, he said, “I clean my gun everyday, I care for it, and I sleep with it. My gun is my friend and it makes me feel safe.” I told him that I didn't want my son to go to war because I just didn't believe that killing ever solved any problems. For me, war just generated more hatred, grief, and revenge. He agreed. He said that he had enlisted in the military because he wanted to serve our country, and he was promised tuition for education, good pay, health benefits, and of course travel all over the world. He said that just about everyone he knows in the service is drinking alcohol, getting stoned, and taking drugs just to numb the pain. “You are psychologically messed up and maimed for life”, he said. “What is the point of having money for education when you can't use it? When you come back, you don't fit in.” Many guys he knew were now yelling at the ones they loved and were sometimes violent. The saddest thing for him was that three of his fellow comrades had recently committed suicide during their 21 day leave because they did not want to return and because their lives at home were in such turmoil. He, himself, had been married for several years and he and his wife were now getting a divorce because she couldn't understand why he wanted to go back. He said he had a high probability of being killed because of his particular job. I asked him why he was going back. He told me, “I am going so your son doesn't have to go. So other mother's sons don't have to experience what I have had to experience. I have decided to continue doing this job to keep someone else from taking my place, to save them.” “But what should I tell my son?”, I asked, “If he wants to serve his country?” “Tell him”, he said, “That I would not have my son do this.” The plane descended and I wanted to cry. He was one of my sons. He was one of OUR sons. When I finally arrived at the home of the family where I was to stay for the weekend while giving my workshop, I met the parents who also had a daughter attending kindergarten. I told them that they had to excuse me for I was feeling a little overwhelmed from my plane ride. “I hate war”, I said. “It makes no sense. When will we as Human Beings learn to respect each other, to love each other, and just get along?” Then the mother shared something with me. She had been a CNN war correspondent for many years and even had written a book about her experiences. She said once you see a father grieving for his dead child that is cradled in his arms, it doesn't matter anymore which side of the war he is on. I did not need to ask her what she felt about gunplay in her daughter's kindergarten class. The answer was already in her eyes.

Suicide is not painless

One of the lines from the great TV series MASH I've never liked is from the opening theme song: "Suicide is painless, it brings on many changes, and I can take or leave it if I please.." I suppose if the one committing suicide does it via carbon monoxide poisoning or a drug overdose, it could be considered painless; hanging oneself or slitting one's wrists or throat would, I assume, not happen without pain. Here in northern California the #1 method of suicide used to be jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. Now it is jumping in front of a train on the Caltrain tracks and it occurs with alarming frequency.
I'm writing this because a very good friend of mine from my time in Cleveland took his life this week. I don't know why - not that it would alter my emotions - but according to a friend of his, Scott was having "difficulties." I myself was hospitalized twice in a psych unit in 1996 for suicidal ideation. I wanted to take my life because I was newly disabled and didn't see any future for myself. Fortunately, my psychiatrist did see a future for me and made sure I was safe and taken care of in the hospital. In a twist of irony, it was my friend Scott who drove me home after I was released the first time. On the way to my house he told me about a mutual friend of ours who had taken her life while I was in the hospital and I was shocked and deeply saddened that Shana would choose to sit in her garage with the engine running for some unknown reason. She had a new boyfriend and they seemed to be doing well together. When I finally saw him he was so grief-stricken that he could barely talk.
This is the part of suicide I think of most when I think about it not being painless: the tremendous hurt and grief it causes family members and friends who survive. Scott has two sons, both in Arizona where his former wife lives. The oldest boy, Thomas, is in college; the younger one, Allen, is about to graduate from high school. Whatever happiness or sense of accomplishment he would have felt at commencement will now be nearly blotted out by the shadow of grief hanging over his head.
Here is what I've learned about suicide: It often happens when the person feels there is no way out for whatever situation they are in. It could be a relationship issue, financial difficulties, a job loss, or even the death of other family members. What one needs in such a predicament is this:
1. To be surrounded by others who can help him or her see that their problem can be dealt with. There are all kinds of community resources and private practitioners who can provide counseling, debt consolidation or whatever. How many of us have lived through the break-up of a relationship, a divorce, the death of a loved one or a sudden job loss? There IS life after these things happen; the person contemplating suicide just doesn't see it.
There was a woman in the psych unit with me the first time who had slit her wrists in frustration because her husband had become unstable and she was overburdened with caring for him around the clock. Since I was newly disabled and being cared for by home health aides, I suggested to her that she could hire someone to look after her husband. Surprisingly, that idea had not occurred to her. Just think of all the stress, the grief and drama that could have been avoided had she known about home health agencies.
On the Caltrain tracks near where I live there are now signs posted at regular intervals that read, in both English and Spanish, "STOP! If you need help for a problem, call this number..."
I don't know what was troubling Scott. In all our emails, phone conversations and occasional face to face meetings over the last few years, he never mentioned anything. And this is the other thing one needs to do when feeling overwhelmed:
2. Get help. Let someone know what you are going through; don't be ashamed to ask for help - it is not a sign of weakness but of strength.
When I look back on my two incidents of nearly taking my life in 1996, I now realize several things:

• I could easily have been hurt and not dead - alive and in tremendous pain.
• I would have inflicted upon my family and friends a grief so terrible they would end up burdened for the rest of their lives
• I would have missed out on all the wonderful experiences I've had in the last 13 years - and all those that still await me.