Some of you will hate me after reading this.
I’m rooting for Duke in the Final Four. I am a huge fan.
But not for the reason you might expect. I didn’t go to Duke—my father did. Because of him, I’m a Duke Blue Devils basketball fan.
Dad was old-fashioned. We didn’t share the same political views. He loved “old people” hobbies like model railroading, organic gardening, and 1000-piece puzzles. I loved surfing, mountain biking, and high adventure. He was Mensa-smart and excelled academically. School was always a challenge for me, and it took tremendous time and effort to achieve my educational goals.
Dad and I weren’t particularly close and mostly avoided serious conversation, but basketball was something we could discuss. He had played guard on his high school team. When I played, I spent a lot of time guarding the bench. But both of us loved the game.
I remember countless conversations where he would relive basketball games from his time in Durham, NC. He had an amazing memory and could recite statistics about the players, their average season scoring, final games scores and other tidbits from more than forty years before.
After I graduated from college and started my first job, I entered the lottery to get tickets to the Final Four. Though I wasn’t successful, it gave me an idea—someday I would take my dad to the Final Four when Duke was playing. I thought it would help improve our relationship and create a bonding experience.
A short while later, Duke made it to the Final Four for four years in a row. But life had become busy for me—I bought an old house. I left my full-time job to finish graduate school then started my own business. I moved to a new town and got married. My idea faded.
Dad and I drifted further apart.
The years passed. When dad was in his 70’s, he started struggling to move his hands to play a piano piece he had excelled at since studying classical piano in college. Shortly after that, one of my brothers called and said, “Tim. I’ve got bad news. Dad has terminal cancer.”
I was stunned.
He died four-and-a-half months later. We never made it to the Final Four. But, between hospital stays, I did manage to take him to a Duke football game. While it’s a memory I will cherish forever, I wish I could have turned back the clock. I wanted a do-over with my dad.
In my do-over, I would ask my father a lot of questions—questions about how his mind worked, questions about classical musicians who shaped his love for music, who he admired in politics and why, what fruits and vegetables yielded the highest output and how to garden sustainably. We would have taken a train ride together and worked on a 1000-piece Jigsaw puzzle.
I would have searched for commonalities instead of focusing on our differences.
Have you ever wanted a do-over?
Maybe you work with someone for whom you have had multiple run-ins, even diametrically opposing viewpoints.
Perhaps one of your colleagues has “old people” values that you don’t understand or one of your new hires just doesn’t seem to get it. Your lack of respect for each other is apparent to your colleagues.
Stop focusing on what makes you different.
Stop using generational differences as an excuse for your relationship woes.
Start asking questions.
Ask questions about their education, their life experiences, who shaped them, what they read, the biggest lesson they have learned in life, and what motivates them. Ask about their viewpoints on a project you’re working on together. Dig even deeper to truly understand their thoughts.
Step up to the plate. Get on the court. Open the huddle for one of your teammates.
Do it to strengthen your relationship.
Do it to understand a viewpoint or position you hadn’t considered.
Do it before you leave an organization or lose a team member to another job.
This weekend, I’ll be watching the game with a different mindset. I’ll try to think about how my dad would have watched a big game. I’ll be thinking what I could have learned had I not been so caught up in me.
I hope you’ll consider how you might improve your interactions with others.
Create a do-over before it’s too late.
