“Do as I say, not as I do.”

He’d say it with a grin, usually after getting caught doing something he’d told us not to do. Eating dessert before dinner. Staying up past his own bedtime. Skipping the chores he’d assigned.

It was funny. We’d laugh. He’d shrug. Life went on.

Until it wasn’t funny anymore.

Because eventually, the gap between what he said and what he did stopped being a punchline and started being a crack in the foundation. Kids are remarkably good at detecting hypocrisy. They might not have the vocabulary to name it, but they feel it. And once they feel it, trust erodes in ways that are very hard to rebuild.

I’ve spent nearly twenty years as a Navy chaplain, which means I’ve spent nearly two decades watching leaders navigate the gap between their words and their actions. And here’s what I’ve learned:

The best leaders — the ones people actually follow — don’t just tolerate being called out. They invite it.

In the military, we sometimes call this “permissive accountability.” It’s the idea that the people around you have standing permission to hold you to your own standard. Not to disrespect you. Not to undermine you. But to say, with love: “Hey. You’re not doing what you said you’d do.”

This works in a command. And it works at the dinner table.

What if your family had permission to call you out?

Not in a tear-you-down way. In a “we’re all in this together” way. What if your teenager could say, “Dad, you told us no phones at dinner, but yours just buzzed and you looked at it.” And instead of getting defensive, you said, “You’re right. My bad. Phone’s going in the basket.”

What if your spouse could say, “You promised we’d do this together, and you’re checking out.” And instead of a fight, that became a reset?

Here’s why this matters more than you think:

When you let your family hold you accountable, you teach them that accountability isn’t punishment. It’s love.

Most kids grow up thinking accountability means getting in trouble. That being called out means you’re bad. Permissive accountability flips that. It says: we hold each other to a standard because we care about each other, and because the standard matters.

It also does something powerful for your credibility. A parent who says “I messed up, thanks for catching that” becomes safer to talk to than a parent who’s never wrong. Because the kid thinks: if they can admit when they’re wrong, maybe I can too.

That’s how trust gets built. Not through perfection. Through honesty.

Try this tonight. At dinner, tell your family:

“I want you all to have permission to call me out when I’m not practicing what I preach. Not to be mean. But to help me be better. Because I’d rather you hold me accountable than let me slide.”

Then brace yourself. Because they will. And it’ll sting a little. And it’ll be one of the best things you ever do for your family.

Do as I say. And hold me to doing it, too.

Every family eats. Not every family has permission to be honest. Give yours that gift tonight.

— Chaps

P.S. If this one hit home, forward it to a friend — especially one in leadership. And if someone forwarded this to you, welcome. Subscribe at dinnercommander.com and join the mission. We’re giving families back their dinner, one honest conversation at a time.