“I wish I had more parents that took charge of their kids out there tonight.”

–     Anthony Watts, Baltimore Police Commissioner

OK, look, this post is not about race.  It’s not about profiling.  It’s not about police, the arrested, the acquitted or the convicted.  It’s not about Baltimore or Ferguson or Israel or Iraq the playground (“He bullied me!) or the grocery store (“That &^%$ cut in front of me in line!).

It’s about personal accountability.

The quote leading off today’s DD is about a mom in Baltimore who yesterday went all nuts upside the head of her son, whom she recognized throwing rocks at police officers during the Baltimore riots.

Cue the “kid’s rights” advocate who will say she’s an abusive mom.  Cue the anti-violence advocate who will say “you can’t solve violence with violence.”  As long as there is a microphone or camera close by, cue Al Sharpton from the far, far left or cue Rush Limbaugh from the far, far right and they will say something incredibly stupid.

And, as Ron White taught us, you can’t fix stupid.

If stupidity isn’t the answer, what is?  How about personal accountability instead?

What if the rules were, “Son, if you get in trouble away from home, the trouble will be twice as bad when you get home.”?  (That one worked wonders for Dick and Pat Heston…)  What if the rules were, “Don’t break laws and don’t run from cops, no matter how wrong you think they are?”

When things still get off track, what if the initial response was “What role did my child play in this situation?” or, “What are the facts?” instead of “My baby would never do that!  He’s just oppressed / depressed / misunderstood and he just hasn’t been the same since the divorce / surgery / rainstorm / loss to City High…”?

Look around.  We risk falling in to a world where there is no personal accountability.  We live in a world where blame is the prevalent excuse.  Finger pointing is the prevalent defense.  Buck passing is so rampant that we quickly lose track of which buck is being passed and to / from whom it is being passed.

Personal accountability is the cure to about 93.9% of what ails the collective “us.”

I hurt your feelings?  “Hey, I’m sorry — and I have no excuse.  I apologize that my words, deeds, actions or reactions caused you pain.”

My kid paint-balled your Beemer?  “Look man, he was wrong.  First, he is going to look you in the eye and apologize.  Then he is going to wash, wax, detail and Armor All your car until you’re happy with it, or else I’ll pay the repairs and he’ll cut the lawn with tiny, tiny scissors until he’s repaid me.”

The police wronged me?  “Chief / Mayor / Governor / Senator / Representative / Councilperson, what happened is wrong.  I believe it’s wrong and so do several hundred of my peers.  We’re all going to be at the next _________ meeting, and we’re going to bring members of the media with us, in order to be heard.  We’re going to calmly, rationally yet passionately and compellingly make our case, and we are going to expect you to take corrective action.  If you don’t, we will all vote with our wallets, our ballots and our conscience.  Martin Luther King and John Lennon are our role models, not these thugs who destroy for the sake of destruction, instead of working for real, meaningful change.”

If each of us simply owned and were accountable for our actions, words and mistakes — we’d solve 93.9% of the 93.9% that ails us.

“Success is moving from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm.”

–     Winston Churchill

Winning typically is defined by the scoreboard, but unless it’s a life or death battle, defining winning solely on the outcome of a game, a deal, a relationship, is a slippery slope.

The context matters here.  I don’t consider the Buffalo Bills of the early 1990’s losers.  They got to four Super Bowls, in a row. (1990-1993).  There are still teams who’ve not been to one Super Bowl.  There are players who never make it.  There’s never been another team make four in a row.  That’s not losing.

Ralph Wilson, the Bills’ long-time owner was the definition of class.  Jim Kelly, the quarterback still defines grit and fight as he gets a leg up on cancer.  Marv Levy, their coach, was one of the most enthusiastic guys ever, and he’s always been an inspiration to me.  The Bills failed to win the games, but they were not losers, accomplishing something that no other team has ever accomplished.

So, what can we take away from Churchill’s words and Buffalo’s pain?

When we win, we should celebrate (and learn from it).  When we lose, we should learn from it, and move on enthusiastically to whatever comes next.  Churchill lived and led in a time when losing meant loss of life, and he still maintained this mindset.  We ought to be able to step in time with him.  The stakes aren’t minor for us, but they’re not life and death, so let’s head enthusiastically in to this, and every day, and find a way to make a difference.

“It is better to debate an issue without settling it than to settle an issue without debating it.”

–     Jonathan Joubert (1754-1824), French moralist and author

By the same token, pointless debate doesn’t advance the cause.

So, where does a leader — a difference maker — draw the line?

If every voice has been heard, and there is no consensus, then the leader must decide.

If every voice has been heard and there is consensus, the leader must decide if the consensus advances the cause.  And then, the leader must decide.

In short, leaders must decide.

“Don’t KILL it!  They eat the MICE!”

–     Dick Heston, every time I killed a snake, which was every time I saw a snake, including Wednesday…but then, he never saw a rattle snake, now, did he?

…and Wednesday afternoon, I killed the snake.

We’ve lived in Texas now for two years, and prior to 5:23 PM, I’d not seen a snake.  Technically, I didn’t see it until The Mother of The Three saw it, and The World’s Largest Labradoodle engaged it in a game of “stare down.”

“It” was about 44″ long, and it had seven or eight rattles — and it is now in seven pieces.  I assure you that all seven pieces are dead.  The coroner has not weighed in but the reptile.  Is.  Dead.

It took a spade and a long shovel — the long shovel to hold it and the spade to commence creating the aforementioned seven pieces — but all seven pieces of his rattle-snaking a** are, in fact, exceptionally dead!  I’d have shot him, but I am out of shells and the shotgun was not readily available, seein’s how we live in Stepford, but I digress…

The weird thing is, shovel(s) in hand, there was clear voice ringing through my head the entire time I was flailing away at him.  (Make no mistake, had Mrs. H had the wherewithal to video tape the execution we’d have video definition for the term “whacking away like you were killing snakes”).  In my head, like he was standing nearby, I could hear Dick Heston, dead since 2002, hollering, “Don’t KILL it!  They eat MICE!”

I killed the snake.  I gleefully and mercilessly killed it.  Dead.  I cursed it.  I made up new curse words while I was killing the snake.  I cursed piece #1 – piece #7, and I cursed it with a passion and creativity that made my heart race.  In fact, my heart rate peaked somewhere around 462, I’m pretty sure.

A few hours later though, what is impressed upon me isn’t the threat to the World’s Largest Labradoodle, or to the Mother of The Three, or even The Three.  It is the indelible, engrained lesson from Dad, echoing in my ears, ringing through my brain.  Like many of them, I didn’t heed the lesson — unlike most of them, in this case I am right and dad was wrong.  They’re snakes, for chrissakes.  They started the whole problem…  Still, the lessons engrained in me by my father are a) dominant in my mind and b) clear and tangible in my instincts.  Right or wrong, good or bad, though, the lessons remains, because of the role and the character of the teacher.

What are the lessons we engrain, indelibly?  In whom do we engrain them?

It’s worth considering whether they’re lessons worth teaching, if our goal is to make a difference.

P.S.  A rambling post, no doubt fueled by the adrenaline of killing the reptile (or the single barrel bourbon involved in calming my nerves, post-homicide).  This is not to say my dad’s lessons weren’t important.  They were!  It’s just to call out the power of the impact we have when people look up to us.  I am not sorry I killed the snake.  Heck, I’m damn near giddy that I killed the snake.  I am, however, sad that I can’t call Dad and share the story with him.  He’d have laughed, and I miss his laugh — another indelible lesson he left with me…to laugh more and worry less…

“While I live, I shall be your friend.”

–     John Adams, to Thomas Jefferson

It’s not like these words were spoken between men who’d been life-long buddies.  It’s not like these two sought out weekends to go the The Cape with their wives, or that they even enjoyed one another’s company.  In fact, Adams thought Jefferson was a spend-thrift dreamer who talked too much and cavorted socially in a way that made Adams’ skin crawl.  On the other side, Jefferson thought Adams a tightwad, puritan, socially constipated old timer.  History shows us that those assessments were pretty accurate.  History also shows us that these two dudes pretty much led the establishment of the greatest nation on earth.

Because while they might not have had affection for each other, or admiration for each other’s methods, what they did have, was trust between and respect for one another.  Jefferson’s gift as an orator / writer gave personality and passion to Adams’ strategic wizardry and deep intellect.  Adams’ pragmatism gave depth to Jefferson’s oration and writings.  Trust and respect, all the while driving each other nuts!

We’ve all worked with colleagues with which social time was something that we just couldn’t fathom.  With that “jerk” or “dope” that was always getting in our way and just wouldn’t shut up.  With that guy that slowed us down or tried to go too fast.  Effectively, we’ve all worked with someone that drove us bat poop crazy.

Odds are, somewhere, right now, someone is thinking of us in the same terms.  And, history may show us that our assessment of them and theirs of us are pretty accurate.  But, if we accomplished something meaningful together, while we live, we should be friends.  Loyal friends, even if the standard accoutrements of friendship are not evident.

Loyalty to family is a given.  Loyalty to friends is, too.

When we deploy old school loyalty to colleagues the way Adams did to Jefferson — based on an outcome that made a difference, we raise the bar.  We lead by example.  We move the needle. We pave the way for the leaders that come behind us.

Old school.

“The obsession with measurement is the problem.  There is something we can use instead of measurement:  judgment.  Some of the most important things in the world can not be measured.”

–     Henry Mintzberg, author and professor, McGill University, quoted in The Speed of Trust, by Stephen M. R. Covey

“Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted.”

–     Albert Einstein

Trust, as called out in Covey’s book is the “one thing that changes everything,” but it’s not the first thing.

Judgment is.  Good judgment is critical in knowing whom and what to trust, and thus judgment becomes the key ingredient in knowing, even in a world that tries to measure everything.

If you think of it mathematically;

Judgment x Trust + Measurement = Magic

Judgment and Trust are multipliers, Measurement is simply additive, and when we get that equation right, magic is the outcome.

If you’ve not read the book, click right here and buy it now!

If you already own it, read it again, like I’ll be doing over the next few days.

Difference making is about “getting” the stuff that others don’t get.  Leveraging good judgment, knowing when, who and how to trust and discerning what to measure leads to “getting it” more better, more faster.

“The crucial variable in the process of turning knowledge into value is creativity.”

–     John Kao, author and advisor specializing in innovation

Even before I knew Kao spent the Summer of ’69 playing keyboards for Frank Zappa, I loved this quote.

Yale and Harvard educated, Kao calls out a concept based in common sense more than in Ivy League lecture halls.  The gap between book knowledge and the stuff of difference making are frequent topics for the Daily Difference, but the process is what we’re calling out here.

When solving a problem, we ought to define the problem and describe the desired outcome.  Once we’ve cleared those two gates, next is to define the risks we will encounter and the assets we can leverage – the variables, if you will.

Creativity — the willingness, courage and commitment to consider all the angles creates value — and makes a difference.

You never called or wrote me, you just up and disappeared
Nobody knew what happened
Where you been for all these years
Now trouble’s what you’re lookin’ like
Cause trouble’s where you been
And I can see the kind of trouble you could get me in
You better pay attention to every word I said
Cause you’re wanted by the police
And my wife thinks you’re dead.

So goodbye to you baby I’m glad we’ve got to talk
But I’m faithful to my wife and I don’t ever break the law
I don’t know where you’re headed for
But I know where you been
We’re reminisced now let’s just go our separate ways again
Go find another ex-sweetheart to hang around instead
Because you’re wanted by the police
And my wife thinks you’re dead

– Lyric from “My Wife Thinks You’re Dead” by Junior Brown

Ever get visited by an old lover? Me neither. But, this song by Junior Brown (check YouTube for the video…it’s pretty funny) is a reminder that we do occasionally get visited by old thoughts, old behaviors, old “skeletons,” that try to convince us that we should look back….go back…slide back.

Forward is more better.

If we’re serious about growth and change (and difference making!), we have to understand the lessons that came before, and we have to leverage the good parts of them while cutting the other parts loose. And, whether they want to go away or not, we have to let the parts that hold us back “die.”

Marcus Buckingham, in his StrengthsFinder® theme “Context,” sort of channels Junior’s lyric, “I don’t know where you’re headed for, but I know where you been…” inasmuch as he reminds us that the past informs the future – not that it sets precedent, but that if lays a foundation for what we must do next in order to honor our past, and to maximize our future.

What we do next is what matters most.

It’s how we get where we’re going.

“Look, it’s all about Chapter Next…”

–     Bob Shaver, extraordinary executive

It is, too.  And it’s a lesson that I had drummed in to me as a teenager, on the baseball diamond.

Anytime I faced a runner at third base with less than two outs (an icky spot for a pitcher to be in, since most any contact by the batter has a good chance of driving in the run…), “Pete” (my high school coach) would step out in front of the dugout.  My mom could see him.  My dad could see him.  My grandpa could see him.  My girlfriend could see him.  And people in the next county could hear him.

“YOU,” he would yell, pointing directly at me, “have to strike THIS guy OUT!”  He would say it twice, every time, either to amuse himself or make sure that the dopey 17-year-old on the mound wouldn’t miss the point.

The point, though, wasn’t whether I struck “THIS guy” out.  The point was to get my mind off the guy that reached third base, and get me focused clearly on “Chapter Next.”  That focus is probably why I got either a strikeout or pop-up the huge majority of the time.  There was nothing I could do about that guy getting to third base, I simply had to focus on the kid coming up next.

In business, as my friend Bob, points out, and as I’ve believed my whole career, there is nothing we can do about what has already happened.  All we can do is focus on what.  Comes.  Next.

“When the solution is simple, God is answering.”

–     Albert Einstein

Solutions, it would seem, are coming in to vogue.  Maybe that’s just blind optimism, but in a society that has run itself pretty much completely aground by creating and then focusing on problems, maybe it’s time (isn’t that a song by Sick Puppies? but I digress…) for some solutions.

The good news, as referenced in a recent column in USA Today is that solutions are not only not extinct, they’re out there, in pretty good number, for those who are willing to seek them rather than re-trench, retreat or rehash.

Now, I feel at least partly icky that the article I just linked you to cited Hillary Clinton as one who is talking about solutions.  I’ll believe it when I see it.  Like the huge majority of career politicians, re-trenching, retreating and rehashing are key parts of her arsenal.  (In the interest of clarity, note that I said, “like the huge majority of career politicians” meaning both sides of the aisle, both ends of the spectrum.)

And even in spite of a horribly rambling paragraph like that last one, the fact remains that we’re pretty much tapped out on problem creation, so, maybe it’s time.  (Great, now the song is stuck in my head…)

And, I love Einstein’s take here, too.  If we stop trying to make __________ complicated, there’s room for His voice to offer simple solutions.  The simpler the better.

Maybe it’s time.  (Seriously, I’ll link it again.  It’s a pretty danged good song…)