Officer Cadet School

I am twenty years old and I already have a kid. Well, 30 actually, and they’re all around my age, some older even. Every morning I am the one they salute, the one who can only be referred to as Sir, and the one whose every command must be obeyed. Having the power to get a group to do anything you say may seem like a good deal, but in truth it is far more terrifying.

After being posted to Officer Cadet School, one of the most prestigious military academies in South East Asia, doubt immediately flooded my mind. Having just finished training as a cadet, I was now expected to train future officers of all vocations. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel pressured.

Even as a child I have been considered relatively friendly (or so my friends tell me) and can connect and empathize with people quickly. This reflected in my leadership style and very soon my cadets began to open up to me and showed me a level of trust other instructors weren’t experiencing. Enthusiastic, they would listen to my instruction and still maintain high morale, somehow making the harsh military training fun. For weeks, I thrived on the camaraderie as they competed to see who could run faster or hit the most targets. We became close in the process, enjoying the training and tough times together.

Then I discovered one of my cadets had cheated on a test. After investigation, my cadet confessed that he cheated because his grandma had been in the hospital and, if he had failed the test, he might have missed the chance to see her. In the military, cheating is resolved with an immediate trip to the detention barracks. Considered worse than jail, the record leaves a permanent mark. If I pressed charges, that’s where my cadet would end up.

My heart sank.

After much deliberation, I decided there was only one resolution. I could not, with good conscience, let this go, as it would set precedence for the rest of my cadets. It was painful and brought a few tears, but I charged him, and he went to the detention barracks and eventually was discharged. The acceptance I had felt from my cadets was replaced with fear. Avoiding eye contact, they would adhere to my command without emotion or expression.

But my platoon learned, and didn’t repeat the mistake. While I was never again “one of the guys,” I found pride in my team’s growth. A few weeks later, I ran into my old cadet. Despite his hardship, he acknowledged his responsibility; the experience had motivated him as he strived to move past his mistake.

Through this experience, I learned that leadership is a delicate balance between responsibility and acceptance. When the course was over, the cadets gave their instructors an anonymous evaluation, and even though I had charged one of their brothers in arms, they understood and respected me for taking the moral high ground. I continue to do everything within my power to help them succeed while accepting that the choices are often in their own hands.

I am proud of those men, all 30 of them.