While thunder echoed through the eve
rain and gloom were forced to leave
the sunbeam danced in her reprieve.

Clothed in brilliant colored dress
sunbeam needed no more no less
than what she wore home I guess.
I saw a rainbow out today…

What were you looking for?
What were you after?
on that flight
that ended your life.

If only I’d known,
if only I’d seen,
I’d never have moved,
I’d never even started.

But fate called you and I
together on that eve,
me in my truck,
and you on the wing

and now that it’s over,
you lie crumpled and broken
and I am still here,
yet, I may have lost more.

About a year ago, I lost my dad. My dad was Paul Dickson who started his career in the NFL as a first round draft pick by the Los Angeles Rams in 1959. He would play most of his career in the NFL for the Minnesota Vikings and would end his NFL career after 13 years in 1971.

My dad earned the nickname “The Growler” during his stint with the Vikings because of his tendency to be ornery and to go full out even in practice. He was a big, intense defensive tackle who on the field lived to knock an opponent on his butt.

As more stories about the health problems of retired NFL players come to light, and more stories about chronic traumatic encephalopathy caused by repeated concussions circulate, I see more parallels to the problems my dad faced after leaving football.

In his later years, my dad had to have repeated back surgeries to mitigate damage to his spinal cord caused by all those collisions with other huge football players. He had to wear leg braces because the damage to his spinal cord was such he suffered from “foot drop”. This happens when the nerves in your legs no longer can control your leg/foot muscles and each time you pick up your leg, your foot points down. When he wouldn’t wear his braces he’d trip and fall when his foot dropped and his toes would catch the ground.

My dad sued the NFL and eventually got a small settlement to help pay for some of the medical bills related to his spinal cord problems.

But as I read more about chronic traumatic encephalopathy, the more I also see evidence of this in his life. Years later my mom would admit that my dad was prone to fits of rage and anger. Their problems would lead to my parents divorcing.

In the years before he died, my dad who normally never forgot a birthday or other event, couldn’t remember anything. When I’d call him on the phone, he always tell me he’d call me in a few days, but then he never remembered to call. We finally hired someone to come and help him pay the bills because he wasn’t able to remember to pay them. In the last year of his life if you asked him what year it was, he’d reply that it was 1974 even if that meant that the middle aged son standing before him would only be about 10 years old.

For years my dad’s mood swings and depression led to talk of suicide. He always said that he blow his brains out before he’d end up in a nursing home. Other times he just wanted to die for no particular reason. Thankfully, as his health declined, he forgot his vow to shoot himself and even forgot where his guns were. He did spend the last couple of years of his life in and out of hospitals, rehab facilities and a nursing care center.

As my brother and I would clean out his house after his death, I can remember picking up his football helmet from the year he played for the Cowboys in 1960. As I looked inside his helmet, I was surprised by how little padding was in the helmet. It was mainly a plastic shell with a face guard and a few small pads on the inside.

This was all that protected his head from the force of a high impact collision with another player. It’s no wonder that he, like other NFL players got their “bells rung” quite regularly. I am sure that modern helmets are much better designed, but think of all the football greats who played with such little protection.

There were a number of NFL players at my dad’s funeral. Some, like Alan Page looked fit as a fiddle. But I also remember one player from my dad’s era who while seated was still a huge strapping guy, but when he stood and walked could only see the floor because he was unable to straighten up all the way from what was likely significant back and spine problems. Seeing this broke my heart.

As a kid, I remember sitting in my dad’s lap while watching game films in the locker room with all the Viking players. From my childish vantage point, his teammates all seemed like the gigantic heroes in some Norse saga. I know now that they were just husbands, and sons, and brothers and fathers. It’s sad to think that many of them may suffer the same fate that my dad and Dave Duerson suffered with significant health problems related to football after their playing days ended.

I’m glad to see that the issue of concussions and player safety are finally being talked about seriously. I am glad to see the NFL begin to take seriously this issue with their recent actions against the New Orleans Saints organization in the recent bounty scandal. I am also glad that so many players are taking part in a lawsuit against the NFL relating to concussions because this is likely the only way to ensure that player safety remains a priority.

Later this year, tens of thousands of football fans will file into stadiums to watch NFL players play the game. I wonder how many of them realize the cost the game has to those that play it. Of those players, I am reminded of a line by the soldier poet Wilfred Owen who said:

“These men are worth your tears: You are not worth their merriment.”

you see cups aren’t cheap
at the shop down the street
where the men sit and complain
about their wives, and their pains

but now they number fewer
his mug is gone forever
and he along with his cup.