This story was told by Daryl Jackson in an interview to Kyonda Trass. It has been edited for length and clarity. One day a couple of years ago, my oldest daughter, who studied psychology at Mills College in Oakland, came up to me and said, “I want to tell you something. Don’t take this the wrong way. I think you suffer from PTSD.” I asked what that meant, and she explained it to me. I told her nothing was wrong with me, but she insisted. “You’ve been a great father, and you’re always there for us.