Dads back from war, struggling with PTSD, discover how to be good fathers in new Veterans Affairs program

Kevin Lynch looks at seven of his fellow veterans and wastes no time revealing how tough it is for men who have been splattered with the blood of war to be good fathers.

“Let’s admit it, except for one of us, we’re all in a 12-step program,” Lynch exclaims, leaning back in his chair and throwing his hands up in the air. “Most of us here are rebuilding our lives.”

It is a recent Saturday and Lynch, along with his brothers in arms, is 10 weeks into a new model program called “Dads Matter.” If successful, the Veterans Administration could roll it out across the nation.

Sure, Lynch, a former Navy search and rescue corpsman, just blew up the dumbest tenet of many 12-step programs and that is to dump stigma on top of stigma by so-called experts who insist on anonymity. But on this day, not only have the men agreed to share personal battles — they have mustered the courage to go public.

With veterans nearly twice as likely to commit suicide as non-veterans, there is no time to lose for fathers whose children grow up all too fast.

Too many men and women in uniform return from combat lacking skills to parent. Perhaps soon, the VA will add a combat “Moms Matter” chapter.

But for now, eight men are waist deep in bad parenting and are opening up so we all can learn.

Baby steps

The North Orange County Vet Center in Garden Grove is a special place. Over the years, I’ve visited several times and have been touched by struggle and honesty.

Seven years ago, one woman shared about military rape — before the Pentagon fessed up to the problem. Now, Jack Brito, director of the North Orange County Vet Center, is helping men face their personal struggles and that includes domestic violence.

“They come home to their families, and haven’t the faintest idea on how to be a father, or how to reconnect with their children,” offers Brito, who served as a Marine in the 1970s.

“Combat vets are taught to react,” Brito explains.

When bullets fly, reacting with lightning speed is a good thing. But hyper-speed often doesn’t work with spouses and children.

“Think of a child crying and screaming,” Brito suggests. “PTSD kicks in and dad yells at the kids to stop. He talks to his kids like a Marine.”

Instead, Brito points out, the program helps veterans through a host of family challenges ranging from divorce to infant care to death of a loved one.

“Sometimes it’s as simple as showing the vets that when you talk to children, instead of towering over them,” Brito says, “you get down on the floor and talk to them at their level.”

Brito explains the “Dads Matter” program includes two facilitators, lasts 12 weeks and includes a weekly four-hour session. For the initial program, most of the participants are veterans who fought in Iraq or Afghanistan or in both countries.

For some, perhaps the class should be longer. But no one suggests it should be shorter. Consider that the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs reports at least 10 percent of veterans have post-traumatic stress disorder.

As the round-table discussion digs deep, Tristan Foust cradles his 3-month-old baby boy, Tristan Jr., who jangles plastic bracelets. By all appearances, Foust is a million miles away from the battlefield.

But for Foust and others who have faced combat, the battlefield is never far on an emotional level.

From December 2006 to December 2010, Foust served in 29 Palms and was deployed to Iraq. As a platoon sergeant, he led Marines in combat.

Yet even after earning a bachelor’s degree in psychology from Cal State Fullerton, Foust continues to struggle. Currently, he drives a truck and is considering moving back to his home state of Michigan to advance his studies.

Mid-session, Foust volunteers that “Dads Matter” classes have helped him balance his bank account (almost) and stop yelling in front of his children.

“After taking shifts caring for the baby,” Foust says, as he puts a pacifier in his son’s mouth, “it’s gotten a lot easier at home.”

Learning change

As the afternoon progresses, some discussions are so searing, so personal, that several veterans ask for privacy.

Without revealing details, I can report the issues range from making exceptionally poor decisions about handling money to pregnancies out of wedlock. Regardless, the willingness of the men to openly discuss almost equally sensitive issues is admirable.

Lynch shares that before he got sober, he was mad at his now ex-wife, “mad at everybody.”

After much reflection, however, Lynch — who served in Cambodia, South Korea, and the Philippines among other places — eventually realized it was he who was creating a toxic environment.

“My whole family has the right to be mad at me,” Lynch confesses. “I thought since I made a majority of the money then I could do what I wanted. But that’s not the way it works.”

The turning point, the veteran acknowledges, came when his current wife bluntly told him he needed to grow up, become an adult. “Ever since that day,” Lynch allows, “I saw things differently.”

Joey Garcia shares that at one point he lost custody of his children and now has them back.

“I had to look at myself first and find out what kind of dad I wanted to be,” he says. “It doesn’t matter if you’re a dad or a mom, it’s about being a parent.”

Garcia shares that after much work and change, his children as well as his friends noticed vast improvements in his behavior. One buddy went so far as to say, “You’re the best dad I have ever known, and I wish I had a dad like you.”

Several days after the session, I circle back to some of the guys. They confirm the program is exceptional, and add that the Veterans Center itself is critical.

“Me and Tristan were kicked out of this group many times,” Lynch admits, “but Jack (Brito) took us under his wing. He went above and beyond to make me realize that my ways were not the right ways.”

As we talk, Tristan Jr. gurgles and coos — sounds of a promising future.