I’m Jess Caldwell. I’m thirty years old, I’m an Army captain, and for five years my father-in-law acted like none of that counted for anything.
Gerald Caldwell is the kind of man who wears being a retired Marine like a second skin. Flags on the porch. Marine Corps banner framing the front door. Unit photos lining the hallway in matching black frames, each one hung at exactly the same height, like he measured them with a level. Every story he tells starts with Iraq, Kuwait, or some gunnery sergeant he still talks about like they had lunch last Tuesday.
The first time I met him, he shook my hand, looked me over head to toe, and said, “Army, huh? Well, somebody’s got to do the paperwork.”
Everybody laughed.