Commentary: This morning, I'll just reflect on pickleball. And people. And PTSD.
Most mornings I play pickleball. Pickleball looks like tennis, mostly doubles, played on a court about one-quarter the size of a tennis court with short-handled rackets and what looks like a wiffleball. If you played basketball daily until 61, then couldn't, then got some new body parts, you might try pickleball.
Our passionate pickleball community plays mostly at Meersheidt Rec. Center and Apodaca Park. About half men, half women. Mostly not real young, although the sport is growing among young people. We play hard, but laugh a lot too. We rarely argue.
I've wanted to write a column expressing gratitude for that community and the folks working at Meersheidt who have to put up with us. We're mostly pleasant, but when you're addicted to something, even exercise, you can be short-tempered when anything delays your fix.
One player, CeCe Hunter, often brought her twin son and daughter, Aaron and Kiley, 35. I liked 'em a lot. Played well, but were pleasant and thoughtful. Really sweet.
On January 8, Aaron killed himself. I was shocked. His incredibly friendly and easygoing demeanor completely masked the pain and inner wounds of war. He'd fought in Iraq; 3rd Artillery, in the first invasion. But he kept all that inside. His only real symptom was inability to sleep, but he claimed he just never needed much sleep, even felt lethargic if he slept four hours or more.
CeCe's grief fueled efforts to help veterans. Including the Aaron Gifford Memorial Pickleball Tournament, April 7-8 at Apodaca Park. All proceeds to Mission 22, founded by three vets (and PTSD sufferers) to help other vets. I urge you to play, if you know the game, or to donate. This problem won't just go away.
CeCe's friends shared her grief and helped. The pickleball community pitched in.
The tournament is a small step; but it'll raise a little money and raise awareness.
So I write to applaud CeCe and the others, and to honor Aaron, but also to be one more nagging voice in some veteran's head. Problems? Who wouldn't have 'em after such an experience! It's all too common. It's no shame, and no weakness. And there is help. Meanwhile, each day, 22 vets do as Aaron did.
Harvey Daiho Hilbert talked with CeCe and me on KTAL radio Wednesday. Daiho enlisted in the Army as soon as he was old enough, was badly wounded in Vietnam, and suffered PTSD before it was called that. Then he found Zen Buddhism. Then he became a psychotherapist. He still motorcycles with young vets back from Afghanistan. Talking with them, listening, counseling. Hanging out.
Daiho notes that we depend on a world with some order to it: we don't go to the post office worrying we'll get injured by bombs, strangers don't approach us on the street and shoot us. War can turn that upside down.
He says people often respond to trauma in any of three ways: denial, which may have been Aaron's response; coping, which could mean popping pills or drinking buckets of booze or hiding in a routine, to get you through the night; and, lastly, confronting trauma's effects and trying to deal with them. With help.
I admire CeCe. I appreciate our community. I hope you pass this column on to a veteran, for whatever it's worth. Healing IS possible. With help. And we all should help!
For information or to register or donate go towww.pickleballtournaments.com, Future tournaments are in chronological order, The Aaron Gifford Memorial Tournament is April 7-8.