Finally, I began to wonder just what had led him to make the decision to quit. I determined to find out. At first he didn’t even want to talk about it, so I asked him about other things. He would answer “yes” or “no” to my small talk, but he wouldn’t say any more than that. After some time he began to get teary-eyed, and he said, “Dad, I know you think you understand me, but you don’t. No one knows how rotten I feel.”
I replied, “Pretty tough, huh?”
“I’ll say it’s tough! Sometimes I don’t even know if it’s all worth it.”
He then poured his heart out. He told me many things I had not known before. He expressed his pain at constantly being compared to his brothers. He said his coach expected him to play ball as well as his brothers. He felt that if he went down a different path and blazed a new trail, the comparisons might end. He said he felt I favored his brothers because they brought me more glory than he could. He also told me about the insecurities he felt—not only in basketball but in all areas of his life. And he said he felt that he and I had somehow lost touch with each other.
I have to admit that his words humbled me. I had the feeling that what he said about the comparisons with his brothers was true and that I was guilty. I acknowledged my sorrow to him and—with much emotion—apologized. But I also told him that I still thought he would benefit greatly from playing ball. I told him that the family and I could work together to make things better for him if he wanted to play. He listened with patience and understanding, but he would not budge from his decision to quit the team.
Finally, I asked him if he liked basketball. He said he loved basketball but disliked all the pressure associated with playing for the high school team. As we talked, he said that what he would really like to do was play for the church team. He explained that he just wanted to have fun playing, not try to conquer the world. As he talked, I found myself feeling good about what he was saying. I admit I still felt a little disappointed that he wouldn’t be on the school team, but I was glad that at least he still wanted to play.
He started telling me the names of the guys on the church team, and as he talked, I could sense his excitement and interest. I asked him when the church team played games so that I could attend. He told me he wasn’t sure, and then he added, “But we need to get a coach or they won’t even let us play at all.”
At that point, almost by magic, something shot between us. A new idea came into both of our minds at the same time. Almost in unison we said, “I/You could coach the church team!”
All of a sudden my heart felt light as I thought about how much fun it would be to coach the team and have my son as one of the players.
The weeks that followed were among the happiest of my athletic experiences. And they provided some of my most memorable experiences as a father. Our team played for the sheer joy of playing. Oh, sure, we wanted to win and we did get a few victories, but no one was under pressure. And my son—who had hated to have the high school coach shout at him—would beam each time I would shout, “Way to go, son! Way to go! Good shot, son! Nice pass!”
That basketball season transformed the relationship between my son and me.
This story captures the essence of Habit 6—synergy—and of the Habits 4, 5, and 6 process that creates it.
Notice how this father and son at first seemed to be locked in a win-lose situation. The father wanted his son to play ball. His motives were good. He thought that playing ball would be a long-term win for his son. But the son felt differently. Playing high school ball wasn’t a win for him; it was a lose. He was always being compared to his brothers. He didn’t like dealing with the pressure. It seemed to be “your way” or “my way.” Whatever decision was made, someone was going to lose.
But then this father made an important shift in his thinking. He sought to understand why this wasn’t a win for his son. As they talked, they were able to get past the positioning and into the real issues. Together they came up with a better way, an entirely new solution that was a win for both. And that’s what synergy is all about.
Synergy—the Summum Bonum of All the Habits
Synergy is the summum bonum—the supreme or highest fruit—of all the habits. It’s the magic that happens when one plus one equals three—or more. And it happens because the relationship between the parts is a part itself. It has such catalytic, dynamic power that it affects how the parts interact with one another. It comes out of the spirit of mutual respect (win-win) and mutual understanding in producing something new—not in compromising or meeting halfway.
A great way to understand synergy is through the metaphor of the body. The body is more than just hands and arms and legs and feet and brain and stomach and heart all thrown together. It’s a miraculous, synergistic whole that can do many wonderful things because of the way the individual parts work together. Two hands, for example, can do far more together than both hands can do separately. Two eyes working together can see more clearly, with greater depth perception, than two eyes working separately. Two ears working together can tell sound direction, which is not the case with two unconnected ears. The whole body can do far more than all the individual parts could do on their own, added up but unconnected.
So synergy deals with the part between the parts. In the family, this part is the quality and nature of the relationship between people. As a husband and wife interact, or as parents interact with children, synergy lies in the relationship between them. That’s where the creative mind is—the new mind that produces the new option, the third alternative.
You might even think of this part as a third person. The feeling of “we” in a marriage becomes more than two people; it’s the relationship between the two people that creates this third “person.” And the same is true with parents and children. The other “person” created by the relationship is the essence of the family culture with its deeply established purpose and principle-centered value system.
In synergy, then, you have not only mutual vulnerability and the creation of shared vision and values, new solutions, and better alternatives, but you also have a sense of mutual accountability to the norms and values built into those creations. Again, this is what puts moral or ethical authority into the culture. It encourages people to be more honest, to speak with more candor, and to have the courage to deal with the tougher issues rather than trying to escape or ignore them or avoid being with people so as to minimize the likelihood of having to deal with such issues.
This “third person” becomes something of a higher authority, something that embodies the collective conscience, the shared vision and values, the social mores and norms of the culture. It keeps people from being unethical or power hungry, or from borrowing strength from position or credentials or educational attainment or gender. And as long as people live with regard to this higher authority, they see things such as position, power, prestige, money, and status as part of their “stewardship”—something they are entrusted with, responsible for, accountable for. But when people do not live in accordance with this higher authority and become a law unto themselves, this sense of a “third person” disintegrates. People become alienated, wrapped up in ownership and self-focus. The culture becomes independent rather than interdependent, and the magic of synergy is gone.
The key ultimately lies in the moral authority of the culture—to which everyone is accountable.
Synergy Is Risky Business
Because it’s stepping out into the unknown, the process of creating synergy can sometimes be near chaos. The “end in mind” you begin with is not your end, your solution. It’s moving from the known to the unknown and creating something entirely new. And it’s building relationships and capacity in the process. So you don’t go into the situation seeking your own way. You go in not knowing what’s going to come out of it, but knowing that it’s going to be a lot better than anything you brought into it.
And this is risky business—an adventure. This is the magic moment of mutual vulnerability. You don’t know what’s going to happen. You’re at risk.