“It was a commencement address, Eleanor,” I said, keeping my posture rigid and my hands folded neatly behind my back.

She smoothed her right lapel twice, her eyes darting to the passing officers in dress blues who kept nodding at me with quiet respect.

“Well, of course, but you have to admit we laid the groundwork for your discipline when you were young,” she said, reaching a manicured hand toward my shoulder board.

“A mother always knows which child needs room to grow on her own.”

I stepped back just far enough that her fingers met empty air.