It's Not Luck - Eliyahu M. Goldratt [12]
I should have guessed it. Dave has a crush on my car, any occasion is a good excuse to ask for it, and when appropriate, I yield. But for a whole week? No way.
“I’ll pay for the gas,” he hurriedly adds.
“Thank you, very much.”
“And the ten-thousand-mile check-up that’s due, I’ll take care of that, too.”
Not really decisive arguments. Since he got his driver’s license a little over a year ago, he’s become a car freak. I think he spends more time disassembling and assembling his junk car than he spends studying.
In order not to ruin dinner, I say, “Let me think about it.” He doesn’t press the issue. Dave is a good kid. The rest of dinner we spend talking about the places I am going to visit—Frankfurt and London. Julie and I were there once, before the kids were born, and they—especially Sharon—are interested in hearing about our romantic memories.
After dinner I turn on the TV. There is nothing to see. I give up and turn it off. Julie is humming over her files.
“I’m bored,” I say. “Let’s go somewhere.”
“I’ve a better idea,” she smiles. “Why don’t we both work on your commitment?”
“What commitment?”
“The commitment you just gave Dave. You answered him, ‘Let me think about it.’ ”
Count on Julie to turn any potential problem into a win-win situation. What she’s referring to is the fact that whenever we answer, “Let me think about it,” we are actually giving a commitment. We are committing ourselves to take the time to think about it—whatever the “it” is.
“That’s a good idea,” I say, knowing that otherwise I’ll never give Dave’s request a second thought. Until he raises the issue again, that is. And then I’ll have to shoot from the hip. One thing I have learned is that I am not John Wayne. Whenever I try to shoot from the hip, I usually hit my own foot.
It’s strange. I do take my commitments seriously, and I do know that if you say to somebody “Let me think about it,” usually the person with the crummy idea does come back and demand an answer. Nevertheless, too often I find myself in the embarrassing situation where I haven’t devoted any time really thinking about it.
It’s not. only that it’s difficult to clearly verbalize gut feel, it is unpleasant to criticize someone else’s idea. We all know that if we criticize the idea of the inventor, the reaction is usually a counterattack and hard feelings. If there is one thing that irritates people more than criticism, it’s constructive criticism.
Jonah taught us how to turn these sensitive situations into win-win. It takes some work, and some reexamination, but it certainly pays off. To tell the truth, even though it works like a charm, the effort involved causes me to be more careful with the phrase—“let me think about it.” Probably not careful enough.
“Okay, let’s start by the book,” I say. “What are the positive things about Dave’s request to have my car while I’m away? I’m stuck. I can’t see any. He’s a good driver and relative to his age he’s quite responsible. But my new Beamer?” Desperately I write, “The check-up will be done on time.”
“Can’t you come up with something more convincing?” Julie is amused.
“Frankly, no,” I laugh. But there must be something else, or I would have given him a flat “no.”
She echoes my thought, “Well, why didn’t you tell him ‘no’ on the spot?”
“Because I was afraid of his reaction. He would have been hurt, and have felt as though I were treating him like a child.”
“Yes,” Julie replies. “At his age it is very important to feel that his father trusts him.”
“I don’t know if I trust him to that extent,” I say. Nevertheless, I write down, “Strengthening the trust between me and my son.”
“What else?”
“That’s good enough,” I say. “This is a good enough reason. Now, let’s go to the easy part, the negatives. I have zillions of them.”
Julie smiles. “You know what usually happens, Alex. Before we write them it looks as if there are infinite reasons, but when we put them down, it turns out that there are relatively few, and more embarrassing, most of them are pitiful excuses.”
“Okay,” I say to Julie,