I never told my son-in-law that I was the most feared Drill Sergeant in Marine history. He forced my pregnant daughter to scrub the floors while he played video games. “Miss a spot and you don’t eat,” he sneered. I couldn’t take it anymore. I kicked the power cord, shutting off his game. He jumped up, furious. “You crazy old fool!” Before he could blink, I had him pinned against the wall by his throat, feet dangling off the floor. “Listen closely, maggot,” I growled. “Boot camp starts now.”

He crumpled to the floor, coughing, rubbing his throat. He looked up at me, shock warring with fear.

“You… you assaulted me,” he wheezed. “I’m calling the cops.”

He scrambled for his phone on the coffee table.

I was there first. I picked up the sleek, expensive smartphone. I looked at it for a second, then dropped it into the bucket of soapy water Sarah had prepared for the floor.

Plop.

“Communication blackout in effect,” I stated calmly. “You have not earned the right to speak to the outside world. Get up.”

“What?” Derek stared at the bucket.

“I said, get up!” I barked. The Command Voice. It bypassed the conscious brain and struck the lizard brain directly.

Derek scrambled to his feet, terrified.

“Sarah,” I said, without looking away from him. “Sit down. On the couch. Put your feet up.”

“Dad…” Sarah whispered, trembling.

“Sit down, Sarah. That is an order.”