The famous engineer, Burt Rutan once said, "Usually the wacky people come up with all the breakthroughs, not the smart ones." If "wacky" is a word he is using for "creativity" then great! We did a lot of "wacky" things during my childhood. All the neighborhood kids used to play "war" throughout the year. It wasn't the kind of "war" that involved toy guns and "playing soldier." We came up with our own "weapons." During the Spring, we used to have "walnut fights" (walnuts, if you don't know, grow on the tree as single-seeded stone fruits perfectly sized to fit in your fist). During the Summer, we moved to "Dirt Clod" fights (it helped that one of our neighbors was digging a pool in their backyard - lots of "dirt clods" were free for us to use that summer). By the Fall, we moved to "acorn fights", and of course, during the Winter we would use snowballs. My best friend and I came up with the "wacky" idea of building a catapult to be use in these neighborhood wars (I think the "rules of engagement" precluded us from using the catapult for walnuts or dirt clods, so it was strictly for acorns). I don't remember if we asked our parents for permission, but I do remember that my father let us use some of his tools (I suspect that had he known we were using it for acorn fights, he would have changed his mind). I also remember flooding the sandbox in our backyard and building an "island" in the middle of the sandbox that was completely surrounded by water. My friends and I would use our "army men" to stage amphibious landings like D-Day and Iwo Jima (just like in the movie, "The Sands of Iwo Jima"). I am 100% confident that periodic "flooding" of our wooden sandbox shortened its life considerably. Every night throughout the summer, all of the neighborhood kids would meet and play "Manhunt" - basically a combination of "Hide and Seek" and football (you had to tackle the kid you were trying to "capture").
As I grew older, my interests changed of course. I started becoming interested in science, especially biology. My parents were there to support me - letting me build my own laboratory behind the wet bar in our family room. I had everything - a microscope, a chemistry set, even several bottles filled with "specimens" that I would later dissect (I remember dissecting a worm, a grasshopper, a fish, and a frog - but there may have been more). Having a father that is an organic chemist has a lot of advantages, so my list of laboratory equipment was fairly extensive! I wasn't satisfied with just the simple experiments outlined in the instruction book that came with my chemistry set. I would come up with my own - thankfully, nothing ever "exploded" but I do remember a few close calls (it turns out that you should never use a common light bulb as your heat source to burn things! They pop when they overheat!).
I remember one time, much later in my childhood, when I went to my Dad and asked if he could help me build a machine that would help me hold my breath longer. I was on the swim team and felt that I would be able to swim faster if I could hold my breath longer. He looked at me kind of puzzled and asked me what exactly I had in mind. I related a story (several years earlier actually) of watching my Papaw breathe into a bottle after he had his stroke. He would forcefully blow into one bottle, which would push a colored liquid through a straw and into a second bottle. He was supposed to do this three times a day (I realize now that this was merely a form of incentive spirometry that is commonly used in hospitals even today to prevent lung collapse in patients following surgery or who have prolonged immobility). My thought was that if I could build a similar device that I could train my "lung muscles" and increase my lung volumes to be able to hold my breath. My explanation was enough for my Dad - by the next day we had two large bottles hooked up to a system of rubber hoses and filled with blue colored water. The bottles were clearly marked to show the volume of liquid that I had "moved" from one bottle to another. Shockingly, no matter how much I "trained" my muscles, I never was able to hold my breath any longer than I already could...
What is my point here? My point is exactly this - both my parents, but in this latter case, my Dad, never questioned some of my "wacky" ideas or plans. They just let me do things. I remember something that Randy Pausch said in his now famous "Last Lecture". He tells a story of how he wanted to paint his bedroom so that it looked like a submarine. "I always wanted a submarine and an elevator." He goes on to say that he even painted the quadratic formula on his bedroom wall. "And the great thing about this is they let me do it. And they didn't get upset about it. And it's still there. If you go to my parent's house it's still there." He goes on to say (and this is what I remembered most), "And anybody who is out there who is a parent, if your kids want to paint their bedroom, as a favor to me, let them do it. It'll be OK. Don't worry about resale value on the house." That is exactly what both my parents did with me as a child. They let me learn and explore. And it was great.
Leaders, too many times, kill creativity by their actions. Rather than trying to micromanage a team, leaders should let them "learn and explore" through trial and error. Will the team make mistakes? Absolutely. And they may even "overheat a light bulb" from time to time. The important thing is that the team will learn, not by being successful, but by failing. We learn through our failures. There is a reason why organizational experts in innovation recommend something called a "skunk works". These groups are usually placed somewhere isolated from the rest of the organization and are given a high degree of autonomy to be able to design new things using new approaches. Leaders can do the same thing by giving their teams the autonomy and flexibility to try new approaches. And if they "want to paint their bedrooms, let them do it."
As a special note, I used a story from my childhood about my Dad. That was no coincidence. Today is Father's Day, and on this day, I want to thank the first man I ever met. Dad, you taught me everything there is to know about being a Father. I am proud to be your son. Thank you.
I remember my brother and me drawing and painting pictures on the living room wall one summer when our parents were at work. Of course we were gifted artists! When my mom came home, I remember how she praised the pictures but of course they had to come down! She never told us it was a bad idea and I remember her for that. She also always gave us the latitude to fail, knowing that experience is a better teacher than a parent.
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