It was a small lie.
That was how he operated.
He never began with something so outrageous that everyone would immediately reject it.
He took an ordinary event, adjusted one detail, and repeated his version until it became family history.
By the time I finished college, the fast-food story had become his favorite explanation for why I couldn’t be trusted with anything important.
When I graduated from law school, he asked whether I had found a husband yet.
When I passed the bar, my mother said, “That’s nice, sweetheart. Your brother has a very exciting opportunity right now.”
When I received my military commission, my father wanted to know how long I intended to stay in the
Army before finding a real career.
I tried explaining.
At first.
I told him about legal training.
I told him about the responsibilities assigned to judge advocates.
I told him about the work I was doing for service members and their families.
