Not My Father's Son

by Alan Cumming

I got a beer and sat in the window watching the world go by as the crew set up, enjoying the feeling of nearness, thinking about how he must have sat here sipping a drink and looking out on this same street. My odyssey was nearly over but I knew it would resonate with me for a very long time. I began to wonder how Tommy Darling would have fared in the present, if he were a soldier now in Afghanistan or Iraq, how different his life would have been. I remembered the article I’d read in the middle of the night before, jet-lagged and fixated on his story and how to best couch it all to my mum. Although combat stress, or post-traumatic stress disorder, is now recognized by the military as a medical condition, there is still a huge amount of stigma attached to it by all sections of society, and there is no significantly successful treatment. Sadly, the article went on to say that suicide is the leading cause of death for members of the U.S. Army today, which has seen its rates double since 2004. Maybe Tommy Darling wouldn’t have fared so well today either. But as I downed the last of my beer I determined to do something when I returned home, a fund-raiser, some sort of memorial in Tommy’s honor that would benefit a PTSD organization, in the hope that someone, somewhere would get the help he never did. “His death is not so shocking when you look at his life,” I began when the crew was set up. Elizabeth asked if I felt I’d learned anything about myself. I stared into space and tho...