Mom’s New Colonel Boyfriend Yelled At Me. “In This House, I Give The Orders.” “I Am The Man Of The House.” I Turned Around In My Chair. I Was Holding My Admiral’s Stars. “Actually, Colonel… You Are Dismissed.” HE STOOD AT ATTENTION SHAKING.

“Like what?”

“Sharp over small things.”

She folded the dish towel with unnecessary precision.

“He has high standards. It’s what made him successful in his career.”

That’s what I told myself, too, early in my career about a commanding officer who screamed at junior officers and called it leadership. It took a formal complaint and an IG investigation before anyone called it what it was.

“High standards don’t require raised voices,” I said.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

That night, lying in my childhood bed, I thought about the distance between authority and respect. About how easy it is to confuse the two when you’re used to being obeyed. About how my mother had spent three decades watching me rise through ranks and still thought she had to accept being spoken to like a subordinate in her own home.

Something is off here, I thought. I just didn’t know yet how far off it went.

It happens on the second night. I’m at the kitchen table at 2200 hours, catching up on correspondence from Pearl Harbor. My chief of staff needs decisions on three personnel matters before I return. The house is quiet. My mother went to bed an hour ago, exhausted from trying to keep conversation light through another tense dinner.

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