Tag Archives: success

The Name On the Front

There is a timeworn adage in team-sports that may be familiar to many of you: It’s the name on the front of the jersey that matters, not the name on the back.

In other words, the objectives and achievements of the team must always take precedence over individual team-members’ accomplishments.  That is the only route to collective success.  No doubt, individual accomplishments do help the team to succeed, but individual glory is secondary to team triumph.

If you’re a sports fan, you may remember Sidney Crosby’s ‘golden goal’ in 2010, which won an Olympic gold medal for Team Canada in ice-hockey.  And you can be sure the joy on Crosby’s face as he celebrated with his rapturous teammates was not because he scored the goal; rather, it was because the team won that coveted prize.  Sid the Kid was and is a consummate team-player.

This lesson was drummed into my psyche from the time I first started playing team-games—hockey and baseball—around the age of ten, until I finished my last game nearing the age of sixty.  Given the vicissitudes of age as I complete my eighty-first trip around the sun, I don’t miss playing those games now, but I’m awfully glad I had the opportunity while yet I could.

Over all those years, I came to realize that the lesson implicit in that old adage might well apply to all of life.  In this country, for example, all of us wear a jersey with the same name on the front: CANADA.  Politically speaking, however, there is a plethora of different names on the back of those jerseys, as there is for any team: LIBERAL, CONSERVATIVE, NDP, SPECIAL INTERESTS, LOBBYIST, and many more.  Ideally, given the name on the front, we would all be playing for the greater good of the team, pulling together to advance our collective best interests.

Alas, all too often, our elected representatives in Parliament push their selfish interests to the forefront.  They choose to heckle and yell, rather than listening to one another; to dismiss differing viewpoints out of hand, rather than trying to understand them; to criticize and condemn, rather than seeking compromise and consensus.  Question period—which is a made-to-order opportunity to seek honest answers and debate them sincerely in an effort to advance a common cause—has become a travesty that would shame an unruly class of six-year-olds.

During my working career, I learned and frequently made use of a valuable strategy for helping bring people to consensus.  On the assumption that agreement is impossible without understanding, I would assign a person (or group) to listen carefully as someone presented an idea.  Next, I would require that person (or group) to ‘play it back’ in their own words in such a fashion as to indicate they had grasped the concept.  If the original presenters agreed they had, we could safely go on to debate the merits of the idea, knowing no one harboured—unknowingly or deliberately—misconceptions about it.  The debate was thus based on a common set of understandings.

If the original presenters believed the listeners had missed the point, I would  have them present it again, and the process would repeat.  If nothing else, it forced people to listen to and focus on what they were saying to each other, rather than just waiting for a chance to refute what they thought they were hearing.

It’s no secret that our country—indeed the entire planet—is having to deal with a number of issues and concerns right now: among them are the prospect of another pandemic for which we are sorely unprepared; the re-emergence of fascism as a political force; a lack of affordable housing; economic and social inequities; famine and drought; the twin-scourges of racism and xenophobia; and the incessant wars being waged around the world.  And towering over and above all of these in scope and consequence, there looms the existential threat of climate change.

On planet Earth, the only home we have, there is but one team.  And the name on the front of that team’s jerseys is HUMANKIND.  But, just as with any other team, the names on the backs of those jerseys are different—in this case, the names of the political, cultural, economic entities we know as nation-states: CANADA, CHINA, EU, GERMANY, INDIA, JAPAN, RUSSIA, UK, and USA, to name but a few.  All but the first on this list might rightfully be deemed a superpower, which Britannica defines as “a state that cannot be ignored on the world stage and without whose cooperation no world problem can be solved.”

The biggest problem facing Team HUMANITY, however, is that these individual players are not cooperating to find solutions to the crises facing the planet.  Rather, they are in pursuit of individual accomplishment, usually to the detriment of each other, as if they are playing a zero-sum game in which, for every winner, there must be a loser.  In hockey terms, it’s as if twelve players are on the ice, each with a puck, firing it at random in every direction, with no concept of who the opposition might be, what team-play looks like, and what winning or losing is.

In the battles our planet is experiencing, there will definitely be a loser, but it won’t be the planet.  It will survive in some fashion or other, perhaps greatly changed from the sanctuary we have come to know, but still circling the sun.  It is we who will be the losers, Team HUMANITY, unless, collectively, the individual players stop paying attention to the names on the backs of their jerseys.

Will we prove able to do that?  I don’t know, of course, but I’m not optimistic.  I despair of the future, though I’ll surely not be around for a whole lot more of it.  As a species, we are as dysfunctional a team as ever I have seen, each of our players strutting and brandishing his own name on the back of his own jersey.

But here’s the one, indisputable thing—in life, as in team-sports, it’s the name on the front that matters.

Asking Questions

“Anyway, what do you think, Gramps?”

We’re in the midst of a long conversation where my granddaughter has been explaining the options lying ahead as high school graduation approaches.  She’s university-bound for sure, but where and to do what are still up in the air.  She already has acceptances from five schools, pending submission of final marks and other documentation, and the choice really is hers.  An array of forms from the different schools is scattered on the table in front of us.

My first post-secondary foray began more than sixty years ago, so I’m hardly an informed source for her to be consulting, but this conversation has more to do with our relationship than with my expertise.  All five of my grandchildren—siblings and cousins—have always afforded me this courtesy when faced with decisions affecting their lives.

I attribute that to the upbringing they’ve received from their parents—my two daughters and their husbands.  My wife and I benefit from the affection and respect for elders that has been inculcated in the children in both families.  Even as we become increasingly irrelevant, we remain cherished.

The kids have always been encouraged by their parents to make intelligent choices when they face significant decisions, but more importantly, they’ve been helped to learn strategies for doing that.  They’ve learned to distinguish between fact and opinion, between truth and falsehood, between goodwill and venality.  They’ve learned to assess the multitude of sources of information they encounter—and to favour those that are fact-based, that are truth-oriented, that appear to advance the common good.

They were encouraged to learn from their mistakes, too, and to understand that failure can be a springboard to important learning.

Along the way, their parents also learned an important lesson, just as my wife and I did while raising our girls: when you help children learn to think for themselves, be prepared for the fact that they may eventually think differently on certain issues than you do.

In any event, here I am being asked my thoughts about my granddaughter’s options going forward.  Stroking my chin thoughtfully, I say, “Do you have a particular favourite at this point?”

“I like a couple better than the others, I guess.  But they’re all good.”

“What are the things you like that might sway your thinking?”

After a moment, she begins talking about how the academic opportunities at each school might best blend with her as-yet-unfinalized career decisions, including co-op work experience.  She talks about where her friends might be going; about the advantages of living in residence, away from home; about the extra-curricular opportunities at each school; about part-time job possibilities around campus; and about the costs associated with each choice.

“Well, you’re certainly considering a lot of factors,” I say.  “Are there any deal-breakers or must-haves?”

“There were,” she says.  “And I’ve already eliminated schools that don’t offer things I feel are important.”

“What about dead-ends?” I ask.  “What are the chances you could find yourself constrained at any of the schools if you decide to switch majors a year or two in?”

She nods as she takes this in, jots a quick note to herself on a sheet of paper listing all the schools.

“That could happen,” I add, reflecting on my own experience those many years ago, when I switched universities after finally deciding on a teaching career following graduation from a journalism program.

“Yeah, and I need to consider the possibility of post-grad work, too,” she says, circling the names of two of the schools.

“For sure!” I say, marvelling at her long focus.

“Okay, Gramps, thanks for your advice!” she says, gathering up her papers.  With a kiss on my cheek and a loving hug, she bounces out of the room.

Advice?  All I did was ask a few questions.  You don’t need advice from me!

“Let me know what you decide,” I call after her.  And I comfort myself that perhaps asking questions was the best thing I could have done because, like my other four grandchildren, this little girl knows how to think for herself.

And what do I think?  I think that’s good!