Ep 30 l Carlos Rodriguez, Golf Teacher for Veterans: Students w/ Disabilities & Trauma

Healing to live in harmony & balance, the lost art of listening, true inclusivity for all abilities

When Puerto Rican immigrant, Carlos Rodriguez, returned from Vietnam, he bravely chose to devote himself to a life of peace. Already an accomplished athlete, Carlos took up a study of Aikido that eventually led him to learning and then teaching golf. 

A PGA pro, Carlos prioritizes his Four Corners foundation where he teaches golf (for free) to ALL veterans, including veterans with disabilities. Carlos insists he is a teacher, not a master, not a pro. He has no skin in the game, and his goal is only to listen & give back.

Veterans are an especially misunderstood group. With an intense trauma that usually can’t clearly be articulated, drugs are not the answer. Validation, listening, & golf is. Golf is a game that requires your body to be in perfect balance. Players only excel when their body & mind move in harmony. Success comes from peace.

As Carlos explains, caring within our society has become “fractured.” People have forgotten how to give to each other in a way that’s purely generous and the beauty that is simply sharing knowledge. We are too focussed on what separates us all and seem to have forgotten that we all came from the same place and are all going out the same door.

Carlos credits his family and his hispanic heritage for instilling in him this valiant truth that he seeks to spread. 

PLAYING THROUGH - a new documentary about Carlos Rodriguez

youtube.com/watch?si=Dhe_bkFiUHC0UNNB&v=8T3CqA-oJ24&feature=youtu.be

Four Corners Veterans Foundation: https://fourcornersveteransfoundation.org/

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Transcript

When you grow up with a religious belief, and then the people… I mean, you go to combat—you know you’re going to fight, but you don’t know the repercussions, how intense they are: to watch someone explode or disappear. And, you know, you see him once, and then you don’t see him. It’s not like he falls on the ground. But that’s very traumatic.

And then when you seek help, there’s no help. So you have a choice. You either deal with it and you reconfigure who you are—which is what I did.

Almost dying taught me how to live. Being struck by a car left me in a three-and-a-half-week coma with 15 broken bones and 16 surgeries to complete, including brain surgery. However, I woke up from that coma in an even greater place than I ever foresaw for myself. How? The universe will guide you out of the darkness and into the light if you allow it.

Often spirituality comes off as too highbrow. I’m not about that. Welcome to the podcast that talks and teaches about it through the lens of humor. Together, we’ll harness positive energy and use it to work with the universe, all while giggling the entire time. Welcome to Gabriella Rebranded: Win Most, Lose Some.

My intro for you is so long. Okay—well, go ahead.

This is Carlos Rodriguez. He has lived 800 lives.

You immigrated from Puerto Rico to New York as a child, when you were eight years old—correct?

Right. 1950.

You were a U.S. Marine—you’re a veteran—professional golfer… I have to look, because there are so many things. Aikido master—you’re a renowned martial artist—minor league baseball player—ballet dancer—marathon runner…

That’s close.

Is that a few other things thrown in there? But we’ll leave those out.

For the astrology folks: Carlos is a triple Leo, and I don’t think anything’s ever made more sense.

Well, the only thing I object to is “Aikido master.” I’m a Shihan.

Okay. But it’s the same thing—“master” sounds like I reached.

Okay. Can you clarify what that is? Because I don’t know.

The Shihan is… seventh, eighth, ninth degrees, and it’s bestowed on you after a certain level. Right? That’s it.

Okay. And Aikido—it’s a form of martial arts.

Yeah. It’s the original martial art you were telling me earlier.

The original. I studied from the founder of Aikido, O-Sensei. My teacher was his student, and I studied in Japan with Watanabe Sensei… and they’re all dead now, right? Anyway.

You started doing that because—this is what’s really important, and what I want to talk about the most today—you started doing that after the war. After Vietnam. You served in Vietnam. And you currently help so many veterans.

Your foundation, Four Corners—you assimilate veterans into golf, you think it’s… and you also taught veterans Aikido, I believe, right?

Right. Yeah. But I don’t do that as much—meaning, the ones that I’ve taught it. But my thing is I try and get them into a good space for themselves.

So I have students that… I have a student now in Korea that still calls me—that was suicidal when he was here.

Okay.

So my whole concept is that vets like myself—combat vets—weren’t helped much when we got back home.

Yeah.

So because of who I am… I used to be religious. I mean, I’m Roman Catholic. But because of the sins of our father, I’d say…

Yeah.

I think that certain people give back monetarily. But that’s not enough. I think that my goal is to help my fellow vets—and help them through golf, in this case, because I’m a golfer—or Aikido, or conversation—keep them out of that rabbit hole, because that’s where they go… or drugs.

And I want to contribute the best I can, and that’s the best way I can—as a teacher. I’m a teacher. I told you this earlier.

Yeah, you’re not a coach. You’re a teacher. He clarified that to me.

Well, I have no vested interest. I have no desire to be paid. Our foundation, Four Corners—we don’t take a penny from the vets. Actually, we pay for everything.

And that’s the way it should be, because as I told you earlier, I think it’s more important to give than to take. I mean, you can sometimes give financially, but that’s not giving. I mean, if you want to give someone something, you explore who they are—which I’m blessed, because I have golf and my professionalism to get into my students’ heads.

And when a person extends that to you, you can’t abuse it. You have to be balanced. We talked about that.

We did. I had a golf lesson this morning. I did not play well.

Well, she kept complaining. And then I realized that she was a controller. And again, it depends on… my dad used to say—and I always refer to my dad—that no matter how much you accumulate, if you don’t share it, then you’re not a giver. And you can’t take it with you—as the pharaohs found out.

So I think giving is a rare thing now, especially with the new generations, because they’re achievers—they want. But in achieving, you lose control of your balance because we become more earners, and less sensitive to our fellow men, you know?

I mean, giving is an art—but giving genuinely is the epitome of the art. Which is: if you give without… you know, like a coach has a vested interest in his product. But if you see the person as a person—as you see yourself—empathy is very important.

So anyway… and you said—because I did research on you—you said the greatest thing that you learned from martial arts and Aikido was empathy.

Yeah, that’s right.

That’s what it taught you. Which—how did martial arts teach you empathy? I was curious about that.

Well, because through the training… I’ve trained with some exceptional players—Joe Hayes, Michael Aron, Al Bancheeks—from back in the day, in the ’60s. They were top of the line—world title holders—before it became a business, and it was really martial arts.

But you share knowledge, and you don’t hoard it. Most people that accomplish things then profit from it. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t profit from anything, but what I’m saying is that’s not what a true martial artist does. He gives back in a subtle way—not with, “Well, I gave you this, and therefore you owe me loyalty,” or something.

Loyalty comes from understanding. To me, gaining the person’s trust is the key. And through empathy, you can do that while keeping the balance, and not letting the student feel jaded or used.

You know, when a student comes up with trust and says, “You’re my teacher”—that’s the ultimate goal. That’s the ultimate goal.

Right.

And empathy is key to me in anything. Anything you throw out should come back with something new inside it. We tend to go back and forth and nothing is… we argue. Debate is one thing, but understanding debate is something else.

And I want to understand my students. I don’t just want to teach them—because if you understand them, you learn how to teach.

And there are several ways of teaching, you know? Verbal, visual—so on and so on. So that, to me, is where empathy comes in.

Because when we play—I mean, I could put the ball on the green, but I don’t.

Yeah—because he makes me feel better.

Well, it’s not just that. It makes you challenge me. And if you have an authoritarian… is that the right word?

I think someone who—

A master… a master is a master because his students treat him as such, not because he states that he is.

Yeah. That makes sense.

Yeah. So to me, watching you—for instance, today—getting all flustered, I kept saying, “That’s okay. You hit it straight, but it didn’t go where you wanted.” So I fudged a little bit, you know, so that we stay connected.

Yeah.

And if I were to put the ball on the green all the time, you would have to wait. But I learned that through my teaching—earlier teaching.

Yeah. Just like… I think something that’s very interesting—kind of like a kismet experience—is my dad shoved golf clubs in my hands when I was five, and he said, “Business deals are made on the golf course.”

And after I got hurt and I had my injury, I didn’t want to play golf because I used to be good at it. And now my hand-eye coordination and my depth perception—it doesn’t work. And I was like, “This would be embarrassing.”

Then I went to Camille—who’s helping me associate-produce this episode—her birthday party, Topgolf, where I was forced to play. And I realized I could still kind of do it. So then I was like, “I’m going to get back into this. I’m going to look for someone to teach me.”

I just found you as a teacher. And it was only after I had already taken a lesson with you that it was actually my dad who looked you up and was like, “This guy does a lot for the veterans with golf.”

And my dad was like, “He’s lived like 47 lives.” And then I looked into it. And I think it was kind of like truly kismet. And like—that’s why it feels like a spiritual thing that I happened to choose you as my coach… or somebody who cares so much about trauma and healing.

And that’s why what I’m going through—and what I was doing with going back to golf—right?

But, you know, it’s interesting, because that takes us back to the word empathy. Because I never questioned or asked you about your trauma—which I also, because of Pamela, understood that you had an accident, yadda yadda.

Yes.

And I have people that have different disabilities, but you don’t segregate them from others. Like when I run a camp, everybody’s the same. And I don’t separate them, and I don’t even tell people that this person has this or that person has that.

If you have one hand, then people know. But other than that, I think the biggest problem in teaching is that we kind of segregate and filter people into different categories. And that’s not teaching to me.

You have to learn from the whole. We talked about the circle—mind, body. And as long as you can think, and as long as you’re capable physically…

I have a one—I'm jumping. I’m sorry—I have a one-armed… what’s his name? Philip, I think. Anyway, he had one arm, and he came to my veterans afternoon class, because I teach veterans with disabilities. And he didn’t think he could play.

And he wanted to know, “Well, what are you going to do—tie something to my arm?” And I said, “No. You’re going to use your other arm.”

And I went shopping with him for his clubs. And now he plays. And he bought his own clubs, and he hits the ball just as well as everybody else.

He gets frustrated because he has one arm. But he told me the other day—he showed up and he says to me, “You know, thank you, because I’m able to stand in front of people and not feel left out.”

And that’s what a teacher seeks—at least, as far as I’m concerned. When a student gives something back to you, then that’s worth more than gold, because that can’t be taken away. Material things can. But anyway… I’m kind of corny, but that, to me, is my goal: to give as much as I can to my students.

Because, again, I’m going to say—my mom used to say—how people want to live for the rest of their lives… and my mom used to say, “When someone has a thought about you after you’re gone, then you live.”

So it’d be kind of cool to have, you know, a bunch of people say, “Oh, I remember this guy,” you know?

How often does something pop in your head and you say, “Oh yeah—I remember that from Carlos.”

Yeah, that’s beautiful. I really like that.

But that’s the art of teaching. Your mom’s a smart lady.

Well, we’re here. She raised ten of us.

Ten? Oh my God. You’re one of ten?

Yeah.

Oh my God—wow.

Yeah. That’s… that’s… that’s… I’m one of two, so I wouldn’t know.

Yeah. But anyway—so that’s how I see teaching as an art.

Okay. And I’m curious, because you’ve played a million and one different sports… like, to clarify—because I think this is important—Carlos tried out for the Mets when he was 16.

I tried out for the MET organization. I never played for them.

No, but he tried out when he was 16. They said, “Come back after you graduate high school.” But instead, you went to the military.

Well, that was the whole idea: do the military thing and then come back.

Yes. I mean, we were kids in New York. I grew up playing stickball—anything with a ball and a stick. And I also swam. But that was my goal: to become a baseball player.

Your goal was to become—

I remember speaking with my older brother, David. I used to say, “I just want to play baseball.” And as kids, you’ve got to remember: this is 1950, New York.

And you talk about… well, they still had black-and-white fountains in Central Park. And we were Hispanic in an Irish, German, Jewish neighborhood in Brooklyn.

But that was the greatest thing, because you had different cultural ideas. And we were kids—kids share everything until they’re taught not to. So that’s a conditioning thing, which I try and avoid with students.

And so I was blessed because I had some good—not just my immediate family, but all the kids around us. It didn’t matter who you were. If you could play, you could play.

And we shared everything. You know, Mom would yell out the window—everybody takes off and goes to dinner, and then comes back. We’d paint plates on the school outside, in the yard, on the wall of the building, and we’d play.

So I think the problem is that we don’t share knowledge anymore. We’re too introverted. We tend to hoard things—talents.

I mean, if I’m not as talented, and I pass it on to you and you become talented—it is part of me.

I have a kid right now that’s—

I won't get long-winded, but he’s 16. He’s going to Oklahoma on a full scholarship. Callaway picked him up. He won the state championship in California—’24 and ’25, I think. And he was Player of the Year. Never played golf until he met me. He was, like, five and a half. And now he has his whole career made. And he always calls us.

And his dad said something nice when we had a documentary that was made on me.

Yes—he came up and he explained how we met, which was kind of…

Well, you’re playing through a documentary about Carlos. It’s currently in the film festival circuit. They won first place in the Puerto Rican Film Festival.

Yes, it did—for shorts.

Yes. So anyway… I mean, so much about me. I think that, again—“me” is a word we use a lot—but it’s not about me. It’s about what I put out and how you’re seen in society.

I have a bad side, which is: when I was growing up, Vietnam was not something that I’m proud of. But it’s some service that I volunteered to do—out of ignorance. I don’t know if I would have done it if I knew what it was going to be. But I was young, and a bunch of us lost our lives. All my friends are mostly all gone that I grew up with because they had the same idea. And we were kids.

But you grow up. And when you get home, then you have the real battle. Because, I mean, I was home eating at my dad’s house a month after I landed in-country, and I had no idea. I was misled because—and I’m switching topics—so we were led to believe that if we took benefits, we were denying other wounded vets and stuff. But that was a psychological thing that I guess the government did to keep us from taking benefits?

Well, I think it was to keep us where we were.

Okay. I mean, I’m not political… so I’m—

You’re really political, but you say you’re not.

But I understand that if I knew what psychological events would take place… what—PT? Yeah. I don’t know—PTSD… that’s not it. It’s… it’s…

When you grow up— I grew up Roman Catholic. I should have the Ten Commandments. And, I mean, I wasn’t in church all the time, but I grew up in parochial school. And when I got to Vietnam, it just… oh, that was not there.

Well, it wasn’t the combat—that you could deal with. It was the shock of my core being blown apart. I mean, I’m saying this personally—just me as an individual. I realized that I was lied to all this time.

But I’m not saying that priests and parochial school is bad. But when you—religion—when you’re… Puerto Ricans are mostly Catholics. And when you grow up with a religious belief, and then the people… I mean, you go to combat—you know you’re going to fight, but you don’t know the repercussions, how intense they are: to watch someone explode or disappear. And, you know, you see him once, and then you don’t see him. It’s not like he falls on the ground. But that’s very traumatic.

And then when you seek help, there’s no help. So you have a choice. You either deal with it and you reconfigure who you are—which is what I did.

Yeah. And you don’t put blame on yourself.

And that’s why I tell you all the time: you make mistakes. What I told you today—that the hardest part of this game, and teaching it, is to confront your weaknesses. And the fact that we are physical beings, and we don’t allow ourselves to connect to our inner selves.

Like— and I mentioned walking. We walk—we’re trained to learn how to walk—but that takes 12 joints working in unison, and we don’t even think about it, right? And until we get to—changing again—uh, to golf, where we go like this, right? And the physical side… we’re trained to be physical.

And getting back to the Vietnam experience: when you experience how brutal men can be—or human beings—because… well, we didn’t fight— we fought a lot of women, but not on our side. But anyway, it doesn’t matter who you are: when the aggression—when it gets really primitive—it’s kind of hard to recover unless you have support.

And to get back to the beginning: that’s why I do what I do. Not because I’m anyone special, or I’m a teacher. And my youngest daughter is—no, my oldest daughter, Sarah—is a teacher. And teaching, again, I told you, is an art because you can’t expect anything in return. If you’re a true teacher, you give—but you have to learn from your students. So it’s not a one-sided thing.

And I think that’s just something that I learned through all my experiences. So anyway.

And why—knowing everything that you know, and the million sports and ballet and everything—why did you decide that golf was the thing that was good to give back to veterans?

Well, because I realized… and in teaching self-defense—I used to teach at A-FINI, which is the Marine headquarters in D.C. I had an Aiki—what did we call ourselves in the plaque? You know, the plaque hanging on the wall. The Aiki crew or something. It’s a bunch of officers that we put an Aikido dojo together, and it’s… it’s what I did.

And I thought that’s one way, but it wasn’t enough. And you know, I would jump from one thing to another.

And then, uh, I think that when I decided to do golf—when I began to understand the game of golf and how complicated it really is—it’s not hard, it’s complicated. Because as I said to you earlier, it forces you to be introspective: look into yourself and accept your weaknesses—which are a lot.

I mean, the game would drive you crazy because, as you know, you start beating things, and you start doubting that you could do any… and if you can overcome that, then you find harmony. And then you learn what the game’s really about.

It’s not a physical game. It’s a game of releasing energy—not pulling any. And Aikido—I tied my philosophies of Aikido to my golf game.

And I became a PGA Pro in 2016.

That’s late.

But, you know, when I was younger, I’d play… I’d go around, follow the tours, and see if I qualify for an Open—and no one would pick us up. I mean, there were a bunch of us, and we’d gamble on the game to pay for fees. If you didn’t make it that day, you go somewhere else. But you follow the players, and you learn.

It’s a fascinating game because it requires total harmony—mind and body. Total. And that’s what Aikido is—total. You have to be in sync.

Yeah. And I guess harmony is the best thing that you can give back to somebody.

Well—balance. Balance.

Yeah. Especially somebody with a lot of trauma.

Yeah. Well, you know this.

Yeah. You’ll leave me out. But I mean—you know—guys that were snipers… I mean, taking a lot of life. And then they say to me, “We like you because you care.” And that’s enough for me.

But I don’t—notice I never talk to you about anybody else.

Yeah.

And that’s personal. Because if you’re a true teacher, you don’t share weaknesses about anyone. You don’t put people down, or you don’t comment on…

On their—yeah.

Sometimes I’ll say to Pam, “Oh, this person pisses me off,” and I’ll tell her why. And then I say, “Yeah, but that’s part of it. That’s part of it.”

I have a thing with Pamela that if I give you a lesson and I don’t call her, it means I can’t… it’s too much for me to talk about.

Yes—and you won’t talk about it.

Okay. But anyway…

You know, there’s… you weren’t talking about it.

I truly believe that the teaching style doesn’t change. The age group changes, and the developmental capacities change.

To me, children are a pain to teach because they know everything. But if you let them… I have groups, camps that I run—I have some exceptional kids that still… their dads say, “Oh, thanks. You know, my kid played through college—he’s a doctor now.”

So, to me, you don’t change your teaching style due to the group. You change your way of thinking and conceptual thinking when you’re dealing with kids. But the core stays the same.

And like, I see people at camps sometimes—and you see camps and it’s always kids running around and, you know, beating on trees and picking flowers. So to me, I witness—and I know golfers—that kind of try and make them… “If you don’t want to learn, just do whatever you want,” you know, as long as… it’s more like babysitting.

But to me, when I run a camp, for instance, with little ones… I used to do—what were the ages? Six to eight or something, Pamela?

Yeah.

And I had a bunch of them, but I always— and I’m alone. I don’t break my groups up, and I don’t have assistants, things like that.

So I have them sit. We discuss what they’ve done the day before. I get them to tell their names, where they go to school, and their age. And that’s hard to do because they don’t want to—yeah, they don’t want to associate.

But we start with a gathering, and we talk about—not the day—about what they did the day before. And then we talk about equipment and what have you. These are the kids.

But the one thing I don’t allow is for them to fool around or prod each other. Or if they start sword fighting, I say, “That’s not what you’re here for. I’m not a babysitter. I’m a teacher.”

And at first you get—errr—but then they want to learn because I’m not allowing them to… and there’s always that 10% that tries to get away with something.

But to me, if someone is acting out, I stop the whole group. And I say to them, “Well, we only have X number of time—X number of minutes. So if you want to fool around, go ahead, and we’ll wait.”

And that forces them to kind of become a cohesive group, right?

Teenagers are a little bit different because they know everything. I mean—well, they know everything when they’re little ones too. But when they’re teenagers, they’ve already learned how to hit the ball and, you know, how to score—rules.

And we used to give them rule books, and the next morning, when we sat at the tables, they had to— I asked questions, and if they didn’t know, we’d go over it. And, you know, some yawn, and some… and I reprimand them. I say, “Well, you shouldn’t be yawning. Am I boring you?” Or I say, “You can yawn.”

And: “Why can he yawn and not I?” Because he listens and you don’t.

But I say it in front of everyone. I don’t pull them aside. I don’t do stuff like that.

And teenagers—again—they know more and they want to play. And a lot of them do their own thing.

And one thing I don’t allow is phones. You can’t have a phone. You can’t play music.

And then the grown-ups—that’s a different can of worms. Because that’s when they have knowledge and they think they know how to play.

And my saying to them: “Well, I don’t like driving ranges, for instance.” And I explain it to them and say why. I say, “Because you’re not playing golf—you’re hitting a golf ball.”

And if you play golf, you know this to be true: it’s like playing chess. You know that the knight’s bishop and the queen’s bishop move the same way, but they do different things on the board.

So I try and teach them about the golf course.

And these are grown-ups that I’ve had—guys that have played forever.

I had a hockey player that could hit almost 400 yards. And I said, “Well—but you can’t play.” Troy Bodie. And he came to me and he said, “Well, I want to play celebrity tournaments, and I just hit it too far. That’s all I know how to do.”

So he spent some time with me, and now he plays all the time. He sent me a jersey that’s about this wide. I could sleep in it like a tent. I mean, the guy was a real good guy, and he said some nice things—and that was it.

And then I have other people—executives that come to me and they want to play against their dad, or corporate stuff. And you have to be able to accommodate them without intimidating them.

And golf is a game of—it’s a personal game. You know, you want to beat your dad, but you don’t want to make him look bad. I’m saying third-person.

But it’s the hardest game to teach because the teacher’s ego takes over—especially in golf—because it’s easier to coach someone and coach them a certain way, but not allow them to challenge your skills.

Yes. Right?

And I think a true teacher doesn’t care about that.

The teachers I had in Aikido—I mean, that’s my true love. And Pam can tell you—I mean, I still… even though I don’t go on the mat, every time I’m doing something, I’m seeing something. I’m seeing the movements and how the body flows and how I would react to a certain situation.

And that’s how I was able to dissect the golf swing and understand that it’s about releasing energy. It’s not about pulling energy.

It’s about… you ever see those cartoons where you have a devil here and an angel here? Mind and body have to come together, because the mind will always overpower you if you’re not secure in your thoughts or your execution.

When… what’s his name? Mr. Four-foot putt for 20 mil—he went to an analyst the next day, you know? So, I mean, things happen.

And you have…

I was blessed because the golfers I knew—Cal Peete. And I played at Rock Creek Park in D.C., where all the Black players played—like the Negro League.

And I was blessed because they had no ego. They would share knowledge and teach you things that you wouldn’t think of.

But just to throw this in—my best influence in the game of golf was Eddie Murnes from Bel Air. He’s dead now. But I had a few lessons with him, and he said to me, “I will teach you the game if you’re willing to learn.” And here I am.

I mean, I grew up in the ghetto. I mean, ten kids. But my mom always said, “I want you kids to become something,” and all of us are.

And case in point: if you really want to be respected—that, to me, is more important than being rich. Because if you’re respected, you’re rich.

People… if you’re respected, you’re rich—that’s true.

Yeah. Right? I mean, if you can have a person knock on your door and say, “Well, I trust you with this X and Y,” or, you know, “Would you mind my house?” Or, “Would you mind my kid?” Or, “Take care of my dog?” I mean, that’s a blessing because they don’t do that anymore. You know? They pay someone to cage them off or something.

Or they say, “Well… how many people… you live in an apartment—how many people do you know?” They say hi in the morning when you pass by them, but other than that, they don’t.

And when I was young, my mom would cook for everybody.

That is—I always talk… I always talk about that.

I don’t always talk about that, but… when I feel like my generation—born between 1997 and 2000—I was born 1998—we got the last of it. Like, we got the last of block parties and people on the block doing things together. And now they don’t do that.

No, they don’t. And it’s—yeah.

Yeah.

Well, I grew up when if you needed something and you were in the neighborhood—people that you didn’t even know would knock on your door and, “Oh, Fulana means X made something, and here—share with the kids.”

It wasn’t where you hoarded things and you let it go bad, then throw it out instead of sharing.

And I mean, for me it’s easy because I live with a great woman. And she’s my soulmate, but she’s very giving. And that supports my…

We’ve been at Heroes 15 years. And I don’t do anything without her.

She wants me to keep saying, “Yes, dear. No, dear.” But that will come. I think it’s here already, but anyway.

I say that because it’s very difficult to step out of your comfort zone and fully trust the environment. You know what I mean?

Because some people are… and it’s human nature to take advantage of situations.

Again—going back to when I went into the military—the guys I went in with, we took an oath. A handshake. To me, if I shake your hand, it’s a bond. That’s the way I grew up. You don’t have to sign a piece of paper and do X or Y. If we made a deal, we shake hands.

Now you have to hire two lawyers and they have to do X and Y. But that’s, I guess… what is it—technology and advancement.

But it depersonalizes who we are. Meaning, it sets us apart. I mean, I don’t know. If you say to me, “I’m going to get a lawyer,” I say, “Go ahead.” But now it’s all being cautious, and—it’s understandable because of advancement.

I mean, I come from a time where you picked up a phone and the operator said, “Operator—who can I connect you to?” Now it’s like… you know, an AI.

And so what’s happening? We’re going this way instead of this way.

Yeah.

So.

Yeah. The golf game isn’t over until you shake.

That’s right. That’s all the—how do you call it?

I forget—flair?

And you know that I always take my hat off.

Yeah. Always. Every time.

I have people say, “Why am I going to shake hands?” Because it’s something you do out of courtesy. And human connection is very important.

Well, I forget what book, but someone expressed it well, which is: the handshaking is the acknowledgement of sharing knowledge.

The acknowledgement of sharing knowledge. I like that. So when you play a game, you shared knowledge.

Yeah. Well, you shared each other and you shared philosophy.

And, you know, golf is not just… now it’s— I’d call it commercial golf because these guys don’t talk to each other.

But if you look at the guys when I played—in the ’60s, ’70s, ’80s—they were characters. You know, Arnie’s Army and the Golden Bear and the Black Knight.

And, you know… but like everything else: why would you have a Harvard law degree and she has a Harvard law degree—and I went out of high school—and they’re busting their chops. And I earned $60 million for playing a year of baseball or football or whatever. And I’m not against that, so don’t misunderstand. I’m just saying—the disparity is huge.

I mean, you know… but I remember as a kid, a dollar went a long way. Now, I mean, what—$35 for four tacos? Come on.

But we have to… we have to find a balance point. Because we’re too out of balance, I think. It’s why there’s so much conflict—because we’re too out of balance.

What is it like—I’m just curious—teaching veterans or those with disabilities golf, or both? Teaching both veterans and those with disabilities golf?

Well, the ones with disability—you have to really… it’s like being in a vault, because they won’t expose who they really are until you get that combination right. And if you make a mistake, they won’t have anything to do with you because they look at it as being ripped off—by the government or by society—because they committed themselves.

Or a cause. They committed the service, yeah.

Yeah, but it’s more than service. They’re willing to give themselves up. Even if you go to Europe and you don’t fight, you’re still serving. And then when you come back, they discard you.

Unless you’re—like everything else—I think it’s a caste system, you know? You have the haves and the have-nots.

But my point is, to answer your question: when you teach vets with disabilities, they’re looking at you as an opportunist, because that’s what they experienced.

That’s what they’ve experienced.

Even though you’re obviously not.

Well, the VA gives them drugs—medication. I’m not saying drugs, but medications—and that’s not what they need.

Yeah. They need an ear to listen.

And when I run my little… I run Four Corners that we started for the vets. And I give clinics every Monday and Tuesday at 8:30, and at 1:00 on Tuesdays for disabled vets.

And what I find is that they don’t trust you until they feel like you’re honorable or you have their best interest in mind. And then they’ll start sharing things.

Like the person I mentioned earlier, who was a corpsman, and he was suicidal. I mean, I’m talking about heavy. And he called me up because he took my clinic, and he said, “Well, I want to talk to you.”

And he’s still… he’s in Korea, and he still calls.

And like I say: I don’t say, “Are you drinking?” He tells me because he trusts me. He says, “You know, I’ve been on a bender for four weeks.” This was a couple of days ago, or a week ago.

I said, “Well, you still in Korea?” “Yeah,” and X and Y.

But you can’t reprimand. You can’t say, “Oh, you’re falling off the wagon—you’re not on this.” I just let them talk, and I talk with them. And we talk for hours sometimes. Right?

And I don’t have to do it. But to me… when I was—I’m bad—had I been disabled, I would like someone to be there. And that’s the problem.

But society—“Thank you for your service”—doesn’t mean anything. It’s just something you say.

Right.

But if you open—if you listen to what they’re saying… and sometimes it comes out crudely, like, “Oh, you know…” like they don’t care—but they do. You have to listen. And that’s what I think is missing. We don’t listen to them.

I know.

We discard them. I mean, I’m on that.

Yeah.

And I remember riding on the train—I had my dress blues on. I’m sitting. Someone spit at me. This was ’68, you know? And I never wore my uniform again.

But I didn’t get all crazy. I just started to be better.

And I was blessed because my—mostly my mother—she was an angel because she always had a meal and words. And she’s… you know, she’s from the islands. But that was enough.

So comfort is interesting, and it comes in many forms. If you’re just open to someone… you know, you’re eating some—offer them some. They’ll say no, but the fact that you offered…

At least it helps that combination to start the turn and stuff. But that’s me. And that’s the way I think.

No, but it’s so true, because I’ve even witnessed it too: no matter what trauma or level of depression or other mental health issues someone has—or even people who are just going through life and spiraling about something—people just want to be heard. Like, at the end of the day, that’s all people want: to be heard.

I gave a clinic once. For example—Pamela brought me a Patagonia coat. Green. And I said, “What do you—what do you want me to do? I’m going hunting?” That was my comment to her, because I don’t like the color green. But it was nice and warm, and I wore it.

And the first day I wore it, I was going to a clinic. And there was this vet, and it was cold that day. And he came out, and he had a little kid, and I think he was from Hawaii or something. And I forget—I’m bad with names—so we’ll say Tom.

And I said, “Tom, you cold?”

He said, “Yeah… I want that coat.”

So I gave it to him. I just said, “Here.”

And he’s never forgotten that. And he cleaned himself up—just that. And I’m not saying it was because of me, but maybe I ignited something. And every time he comes by, he says hi, and his kids are… they’re all happy.

And I don’t know. I know there are a lot of different things happening, but just that one thing, I guess, maybe lit something inside him and said, “Maybe someone does care.” And maybe he took care of his business, you know?

Little does he… and I do that a lot. I give things away. I mean, Pamela can tell you. I give kids clubs. I give shirts. My brother makes shirts—Four Corners—and we give them away, you know. But it’s the way I grew up.

Yeah. I was going to say: little does he know the only reason you gave him that jacket was because it was green. Probably. Green, and you’re like, “Please take this.”

No, but he was cold. And it’s a nice thing to do.

Sometimes I pay for people’s stuff.

So I gave… we were at Little Fatty’s. We had dinner, and we came out, and there was this gentleman that was homeless or something. I didn’t ask, but I think I asked Pamela… It might not have been Little Fatty’s, but we were coming out of eating dinner and this guy was walking by. And I said, “Here.” So I gave him, like, five bucks, right?

And his response was, “I don’t have to do anything for it?”

And I found that kind of odd. I said, “No. It’s just—you do what you want.”

But my point is that we need to care for each other more. And caring doesn’t mean giving things. It’s just listening sometimes and acknowledging, you know? Or opening a door for someone that hasn’t had a door—or has had so many doors—closed.

I mean, simple things like that, that we forget or take for granted, right?

Yeah.

But when you do it for someone that’s down and out—instead of buying them a jug, or giving them drugs, or not talking to them, or making them feel not wanted…

I mean, and you don’t have to be homeless. You could live in a house and still be in that same predicament.

But I think the caring in society is kind of fracturing. It’s fractured. But it’s kind of out here, when it should be—there should be that connection that I grew up with.

Yeah.

It didn’t matter who you were, but if I had some, we’d go to the movies, or we’d shine shoes—that’s what we used to do as kids. If you needed money, you became productive. You know, I was rolling pretzels at eight years old in Brooklyn with my older brother—who’s a year older—and we used to go… like, just to go to the movies, you know?

And we did a whole bunch of different things, aside from sports, and… but—

Bel Air.

Yeah.

But we never denied another person. Whether it was marbles—we shared that. Cards—we used to compete and, you know, flipping cards. Anyway.

So giving the veterans—like offering them golf—in a way that’s… or not “in a way,” it is: it’s opening a door for them.

Yeah, because golf—believe it or not—vets think they know how to play because they’re aggressive. And kind of allowing—stepping into that environment—as a professional golfer, I could say, “Dudes, you don’t play golf, you hit golf balls.”

Which I say to students that are comfortable. Once I know they can interpret it the correct way.

I have people say, “Well, I’ll play you for $5.” I say, “You don’t have $5, but I’ll play you anyway.”

But the point is: you need to—whether it’s golf, checkers, or chess, billiards—you have to make them feel like they’re equals.

And that’s hard to do. Especially when a vet is… vets are aggressive—not by nature, but because of the circumstances. The vets I know, a lot of them take life and don’t know how to deal with this. So that’s all internalized. And medicine can’t cure that. A psychiatrist—it’s the wrong way.

You just have to allow them to confront you, and you not wither away. You stand your ground without being aggressive, and they’ll open up. I mean, that’s the way I deal with people anyway. I mean, I can take care of myself, so I don’t need to prove anything to anybody.

And I tell most people, “You’re fine. You could get in my face—just don’t put your hands on me.” Just don’t… I mean, it’s simple. I don’t say it aggressively. I say it, and then they say, “Well, why? What would you do?”

I say, “I just don’t like being touched.” I don’t say, “Well, I’ll beat you to death,” or anything like that. But it’s just the way you present yourself.

Because most people fear vets, you know? Because of all… bullies. I mean, you stand up to a bully—not by, you know, punching them out—but making them feel wanted. Or neutral—neutralizing. Not “equal,” but “equals” is the right word, okay—by neutralizing the aggression.

And that’s what Aikido does. You take something and then you give it back.

Back.

But to live that way is very hard because…

Take something and give it back.

Yeah. If you take energy and then give it back, then it’s neutralized. See, we tend to go this way when something’s coming at you. Something’s coming at you—you turn this way, and then there’s the elbow and there’s the grind and there’s the chin.

Aikido was developed for women, so it’s not this—it’s open hand. It’s like Tai Chi.

But anyway, I’m jumping off. I think I talk too much. But anyway—

How did—I'm just curious—when you came back from the war, obviously, as you were just talking about—Vietnam.

Yeah, Vietnam. Not World War II. Not World War II.

But as you were talking about how it’s kind of like when vets come back from the war, they sort of have two options—turn to things like drugs, or choose to make something of yourself—how did you have the mental bandwidth and the intelligence and the knowledge to be like: I’m going to pursue this thing—Aikido; I’m going to pursue golf; I’m going to take care of myself and not do anything bad?

Well, I had a foundation. My siblings.

Okay—your siblings.

Yeah. Eight of them. Nine. I mean, but the point is that we weren’t rich by any means, but we had a core principle: we looked after each other.

I don’t know if you know Puerto Ricans—you could be my sister. And Pamela has witnessed this. I hadn’t spoken to my sisters in years, or my brother Julio—and he showed up at the Puerto Rican Film Festival in New York.

And he said, “You don’t recognize me?”

I hadn’t seen him for 20 years.

Oh my gosh.

But we hugged. And I said, “Yeah. You’re Julio.” And that was it. So it’s not like, “Oh, I missed you,” and “you did this,” and X and Y. But that’s how Hispanics are—at least Puerto Ricans.

Yes. Because my mom is the same way. I’ll call her—I’ll say, “Pamela…” she’s in Puerto Rico—and I feel that her husband’s sick with cancer, or whatever he has, and it’s terminal. So I get an inkling.

I say, when I pick—she picks up the phone—she says, “I was just thinking about you.” And that’s… whether it’s true or not, that’s how we were.

Don’t.

That’s a spiritual thing.

Yeah. When I get around my family, we don’t ask, “Well, where have you been?” It’s like…

Pamela had never been with my clan before. So my younger brother has a son, and my—was Kathy there at the brewery?

We decided to have… I don’t know, out of the blue— I mean, I have… these are families that… one lives in Long Island, New York—

Oh, that’s where I’m from.

Yeah, really?

Yeah. She’s a realtor.

And so they said—out of the blue—they just called up and said, “Let’s get together.”

And okay. They didn’t say, “Oh, I haven’t seen you for years.”

Anyway, we got together. And we have pictures of the clan, and now they’re gone again.

But I think, again, in the ’50s, the family was important because it was what made who you were. And when you strayed out of the herd, right, there was always something to come back to.

So I came back—not to the VA. I didn’t go to the VA until I was 60, I think, or something like that, because I believed that if you took advantage of the VA, you were taking from wounded or deserving vets—even though I’m a combat vet.

Yeah.

And that’s what they drilled into us. And I think it was more like, so we wouldn’t claim benefits.

But just to let you… so I’m a combat vet, and I’m supposed to be 100%—whatever that means. Because, again, I didn’t go to the VA.

I went home and finished. Anyway, a combat vet is 100% automatically.

Okay.

When we got home, guys in my unit—and guys that fought from ’65 to ’68—they gave them 30%.

30% of benefits?

Yeah. And that’s not right. They’re supposed to get 100%.

Yeah.

It’s the way it was said. But, you know, we didn’t know. We’re vets. We fought and we came back, and whatever they gave us, we thought that’s what we earned.

But as it—as after Vietnam—and I forget what general, or who was it, that said, “Well, we’re going to correct the 30%.” That’s us. Because they promised us something and you didn’t get it.

Well, we didn’t care. I came home not for benefits. I came home with trauma and stuff, and it was over.

And I had my mom, my family, and I traveled around. Well—they let me in the door.

My mom was upset because she said… you give people… you know, she was not a Harvard graduate. She was an Indian from Puerto Rico, but she was a great lady.

And I would tell you a little story about Vietnam, but I shouldn’t.

Well, you don’t have to.

Well, I have to, because…

It’s your choice.

No, no, no—it’s no big deal. It’s just something that Hispanics—at least from the island—we have a connection to each other, that we could be apart, and yet, when things happen… they call it intuition or something.

But like, sometimes I think of my sister, and she says, “Oh, yeah—something happened. I’m glad you called. I was thinking about you.”

But I went on patrol in Vietnam. We were in the jungle—an LP, a listening post. All you do is listen. And if you get caught, you’re dead. But you’re in the middle of nowhere, in the canopy. And you can hear voices and stuff, and you don’t move.

You’re embedded—camouflaged. You’re invisible. But you’re hanging… I don’t know.

I mean, we spent a real cold evening, and you could hear beating and stuff. They were building something, and they didn’t know we were there.

Anyway—long story short—we came back in. This was Hill 101, outside Cam Lộ, way up north.

And so my hands were… you know, people think that a jungle is… but at night and early morning, it’s cold.

So my closest friend was Tom Benelli—a Navajo Indian—and Sanchez and Lopez… anyway, we came in from patrol. And I said to Benelli—there was a fire pit, right? A U-shape. That’s where they throw all the stuff in, heat the place up. And most guys come up and warm up because it’s real cold early morning.

And they usually hit you right when sun rises and sunsets.

But anyway, there were a bunch of guys there. And so I said, “Tom, I’m going to squeeze in there. I can’t feel my hands.” So I—I'll make it real short— I said, “Can I get in here?”

“Oh, you Marines…” Some vocabulary went through.

And so I started warming my hands. But then he said, “Well, hurry up.”

And we lived in a hole. And we had a certain kill zone. It’s not a bunker. It was a hole in the ground facing north, I guess.

And he said, “Hurry up, dude.” And we lived in a hole. That’s all they did—they just kept you in a hole.

Oh, yeah?

Yeah. That’s where you live.

Okay.

I mean, you know. Anyway, so he says, “Hurry up.” So anyway, I’m warming up, and I hear my name: “Carlos, venir chi.”

But the only person that calls me… my name is not Carlos. My name is “Carlos.” And that’s what my mom called me when I was little. And this actually happened.

And so I said, “Tom, you’re messing with my head.”

And he said, “No, man—you’re paranoid.”

And so I squeezed in again. And I said, “Did you call me?” And to the guy—I don’t know. Anyway, he said, “Dude…” Some curse words and stuff. “You Marines are all jacked.”

So anyway, I kept warming my hands, and I heard it again: “Carlos—ven aquí.” And then I stayed. And then the third time I heard it, it says, “Carlos—ven aquí,” which means now.

And so I said, “Tom, you’re messing…”

So anyway, I ran over to my hole. As soon as my feet hit the ground, the whole hill shook. Everybody there was killed. You see a big mushroom cloud.

And the whole thing—what happened was: mortar rounds come in crates—wooden crates. So someone must have thrown one in thinking it was empty. And it took time for it to explode. But it killed everyone there.

And I got home—I won’t get into what, you know, gathering the bodies and stuff.

But when I got home, I said, “Mom, I have something to tell you. This happened.”

And she took me by the hand. And my mom’s Indian, so she’s real superstitious.

So in the brownstones in New York, you had a sink, and then underneath is where you put all your—

Yeah.

So she opened it up. It had my graduation pictures and candles all the way around it. And she said to me, “I knew you were going to come home.”

And that actually happened. That freaked me out.

That’s crazy.

Yeah.

And there’s been other incidences of guys getting medals and jumping out because they forget it. And so things happen. I don’t know. But that actually happened to me.

You just literally heard, like, your mom calling you.

Yeah. No, I heard my name. Or your name, and I didn’t connect it. It’s like maybe I was delusional, because we spent almost three days in a hole just listening to things. And you can’t move—you crawl. And if you’re spotted, they kill you. And we’re kids, so you could do that.

But when I got to that fire pit, I heard my name, and only my mom calls me by that name. So Americans call me—not “Godlos”—Carlos. But I don’t know.

But I explained that story, and… well, she fed me because she always used to feed me. And I would talk to her, and she brought my hair and say, “Oh, I wasn’t worried about you.”

That’s like a beautiful story. That’s freaky. That’s freaky.

It’s freaky, for sure. But I’ve heard a lot of stories after I get with vets, and sometimes we sit and talk about, you know, your parents. It’s… yeah.

But that goes back to connection, you know. Our parents taught us how to look after each other psychologically—not necessarily physically, you know. But I was blessed. The time period was different, you know.

Yeah.

So anyway.

What advice would you give to trauma survivors to, as you said, unlock their vault?

Believe in yourself. Believe in yourself. Express what you’re feeling. And if the feedback is likening to you—if you like the feedback—then that’s real. And if the feedback you don’t like, then stay open. You know? Because there are many different venues that you can take.

But don’t close yourself out. Because you have to be able to open up to yourself first.

Sometimes we’re spontaneous. We do things without clarity—like when you hit someone accidentally. And you say, “Whoa—I didn’t mean to do that.”

But when you’re traumatized—I know I went through it—and when you’re traumatized, you want to blame yourself. And then you don’t—you come out with aggression toward others, or seemingly aggressive, even though you don’t think you are.

Play golf. Play golf.

No, seriously—I say that, or Aikido, or something that keeps you in harmony.

But as I said to you earlier… and I’ve known you for a little bit, but I was comfortable enough to call you a controller. Right? And she kind of stiffened up a little bit. But I said that because I felt comfortable enough for you to take that and translate it to what you were doing—which you did.

Then you hit a good ball. Then you went back to, “Oh, I…”

And the thing is: don’t get into denial. You can only ask for help if you’re willing to stand up to whatever feedback you get. And if it’s negative, go somewhere else. Ask someone else. Don’t internalize—because that’s the problem with most vets.

You go to a psychiatrist or you go to the VA—they don’t ask you what your problem is. They’ll say, “What’s your problem?”

And that’s not the way to approach a person. As soon as you say to a vet, “What’s your problem?” then he shuts down. Or a traumatized person—because if you knew your problem, you wouldn’t ask for help, right?

Yeah.

So I just… I don’t know if that answered your question.

No, that did.

But… and I told you—I’m a teacher.

You are a teacher.

I deal with a lot of people, and… and… and I think the teaching is true art if you’re a true teacher. And I’m not saying that I’m all that—but I listen.

You listen.

And you know, I mean, I’m not a Harvard graduate, but you listen, and listening is what we’re missing, I think, in society.

Especially when you think that you’re better than a person that’s sitting in front of you—meaning, not that you’re being malicious—but if you sit there with someone drooling, you should be empathetic enough to hold it in and not show your disdain for the drooling. But he’s a person.

And once that person—people that are internalized and are hurt—they know when a person is real, right?

That is very true. Someone who’s been hurt—you know when a person’s real.

Yeah. And you can’t hide that from people.

So, I mean, I tell my students—and I tell you—it’s a hard game. What makes it a hard game is that it exposes you for who you are—weaknesses and strengths. I told you that today.

Yeah.

Because you were beaten. And I said, “Well, it doesn’t bother me. I have an hour and a half with you.” But it beats a psychiatrist, right?

Yes, it does.

No, it was bothering me.

No, I know. Not you. But I kept in touch with you. I could have just kept quiet and let you vent. But that’s not what a teacher does. I mean, my job is to—again—unlock what’s in there. For you, not for me. I already know.

I mean, that’s not arrogance. If I didn’t know, I couldn’t help you. If you didn’t know, you couldn’t help me.

You know, because you’ve coached millions.

Well, I know because I’ve been traumatized.

Yes.

I’ve taught. But to keep that balance, it’s hard. Because then arrogance on the teacher’s part—he thinks that when you think you’re better than the student… I think I told you this earlier: a good teacher is a good student.

But that means more—you have to keep a balance with all your students.

I get students that look at me and… I mean, I’ve had people that—I would like to say—in meeting them, I sit down and I interview them and we talk a little bit. I did that with you.

And they start yawning, and I say, “You can yawn. It’s okay. I get boring sometimes.” But that’s my way of telling them: pay attention, and maybe you’ll learn something.

But I don’t have to tell them—be aggressive—and get into a trip about why they yawn. “Am I boring you?” “You know, I don’t have to be here.” That’s nonsense.

So trauma is something that… especially with you—you went through a brain injury. But you must have had good people wanting you to, you know, recover.

And recovery is forever—your recovery.

Yeah. I mean, yeah. I mean… so it’s hard to be balanced.

But to me, being balanced is within yourself. If you’re balanced, then your aura is balanced.

Yeah.

And you don’t have to go in and out. I mean, you know what you want, how to do it, and how to keep that door open and not shut it because you’ve gained something.

And that’s the hardest part—to keep it in plain sight, right?

So anyway… did I answer your question?

This was so peaceful.

I’m a man of peace.

You’re such a peaceful— you have such a peaceful delivery.

Well, thank you.

Something that I wanted to ask you—and I think it might be the last question—was… what…?

I still have saliva, so that’s it.

What?

I think it’s important. I want you to say: what do you wish that everyone knew, or the empathy they extended—the public—to veterans? Because veterans are often a very misunderstood group. So what do you wish that the public knew about veterans?

That they’re human. That they’re just like they are.

And if you really want to help a veteran, don’t say, “Thanks for your service.” Be honest. Whatever you say… that’s what do they call it? Something you say all the time: “Thanks for your service.” “Thank you for your service.”

What service?

You know, you have to be able to distinguish a person and not categorize them as a lump of meat or something. They’re all different, you know.

Sometimes I ask a question—that’s why I say that the word I don’t like hearing—and a lot of survivors don’t like hearing—is when people say, “I’m sorry that happened,” because it’s so blanket.

It’s the same thing as “Thank you for your service.”

Yeah, it’s so blank.

And it’s also like—I always say to people when they say, “I’m sorry,” I say, “Why? Were you the one driving the car?”

Yeah.

Well, no, just to add to that—you know, you see accidents, right? People that come running up—the first thing they ask the person: “Are you okay?”

No, obviously not. I’m just—my legs are all over the place.

No, and it’s spontaneous. You hear that all the time. Someone gets crushed by someone and they— “Are you all right?”

You know—no, I’m not all right. I just got mangled.

Yeah.

But it’s the same thing with… before it was “Thank you for your service,” it was like, “How many people did you kill?” I have students asking me that.

You know, teenagers usually do that a lot. Grown-ups sometimes, but mostly teenagers.

“How many people did you shoot?” And I guess it’s the games they play or something.

Yeah.

That, to me, it’s like so obvious not to ask that.

Well, but they do.

And what my response is: “Why would you ask me something like that? Do you think that’s a nice thing to say?”

I don’t go off on them. I just ask them. I come back with a question.

“Why would you ask me how many people did I kill? And do you think that’s a nice thing for you to ask someone?”

I don’t say “me.” I say “someone.” Because that gives them an out. You’re not pointing your finger at them—you are, but not directly. You know, you’re kind of going like this, and they pick it up. They say, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

But the kids now are into violence.

Yeah. We glorify violence a lot now.

Until you actually encounter it.

Yeah. Until you actually encounter it. And then you know it’s not the thing to be glorified.

I’m just going to check—make sure I asked you everything I wanted to ask.

Oh, wait—your film! Let’s talk about your film a little bit.

We just did.

It just won first place at the Puerto Rican Film Festival, but for short films.

For short films. Documentary—short documentary. It was created by a USC alum—fight on.

She said that—Michael…

Yeah. But where can people watch it when it’s out? I know it’s not out yet.

Well, I think they have to wait until the season’s over when they show it. So it’s probably after Christmas. Pamela—you answer that.

It’s YouTube.

So it’ll be available on YouTube. Okay—probably by the time this comes out.

And I do Cursing It.

You do Cursing It.

Yes. I’m going to put a link in the show notes to Playing Through. And I’m also going to put a link in the show notes to the Four Corners Foundation, so everyone can donate if you’d like to donate, or learn more about it, because it’s really incredible what you’re doing.

That’s kind of you.

Yes.

Well, again, I do it all myself, because then it’s done correctly.

I mean, I get people wanting… “How many teachers do you have?” I say, “I teach everything by myself.”

So I went to Sony Pictures—they were 36 people—and I managed to make them all happy. And you know, I gave them all happy—so all of them were happy, at least as far as I know. We didn’t get any complaints.

But I just… I grew up that way.

I have a lot of things to atone for in my years in the service. So it’s how I… it’s my penance.

And I had some—again—I had some great teachers that gave, to me, knowledge without wanting anything in return. So it’s the way I live.

I mean, I’m a simple guy, but if you need something and I can help you, I would.

Well, I know you’re not. It doesn’t matter.

Because in reality, to me personally, it’s penance. It’s atoning for taking life.

So if you can admit—to yourself—what you’ve done, and instead of hiding it or suffering with it, let it out. And then you stay in harmony with yourself.

Rules of Aikido. Mind, body.

That is a great place to end. That is a fabulous place to end.

Okay. I didn’t even know we were doing it. I thought we were just talking.

That was fabulous. You got me on this one. Thank you so much for sitting down with me.

My pleasure.

There’s been a super—I think this is the most peaceful episode that we’ve ever had.

And I know you’re bad with the names… what’s my name?

Gabrielle.

Thank you.

So thank you for sitting down on—

Oh, my pleasure.

Thank you for sitting down on Gabriella Rebranded.

Gabriella.

As always, I will be placing the links in the bio where you can find more about Carlos, Playing Through, and the Four Corners Foundation.

This has been Gabriella Rebranded: Win Most, Lose Some. That’s what I say, because isn’t all of life winning most and losing some?

More wins than losses.

More wins than losses, because the loss is only something you accept.

Yes. A loss is only something you accept.

And the first loser is what?

Second place.

The first loser is second place.