Duct Tape, Carboard, and The Friendship

Last weekend was the annual cardboard boat race at our family camp.

On Thursday night my eight-year-old called me at home, "Dadda... they're doing the boat race again. Can we build one?"

By the time I arrived at camp, I'd collected every Amazon and Chewy box and every abandoned roll of duct tape I could find.

When we spread the materials out on the porch, I told her something that surprised her, "This year, you're building the boat. I'm here if you need ideas or help cutting cardboard, but I'm not building it for you."

The next morning I walked onto the porch expecting to find one little girl staring at a pile of boxes. Instead, I found four girls, ages seven to ten, working like a project team. They had already figured out how to cut and shape the cardboard into a surprisingly good-looking boat.

One was cutting the tape because they'd already learned about blisters on their fingers. One was handing the tape over to that taper who was working with the one holding the boat together.

No one appeared to be in charge. They had naturally organized themselves into an assembly line. I sat back and watched them work for nearly three hours.

By lunchtime, they proudly announced, "We're done!"

The problem was...The boat definitely wasn't.

It looked great, but I knew it wouldn't float.

Later my daughter quietly pulled me aside, "I know they think it's finished, but I don't think it'll float. Can you help me?"

So instead of fixing it for them, we talked.

We talked about buoyancy, displacement and keeping water out. But most importantly, we talked about why those things mattered.

The next morning she gathered the team on the porch again. Some of the girls weren't at all thrilled.

One even proclaimed in a quizzically frustrated tone, "What do you mean we're not done?"

They had already moved on mentally to swimming, riding bikes, anything sounded more fun than another roll of duct tape, blisters, paper cuts, and cardboard.

As I watched my daughter over the next day, something struck me.

She never argued with her team.

She never forced anyone to work.

She never tried to control the group.

They all went swimming, rode thier bikes, played hide-and-seek, and there were no arguments, no tears, no drama.

Then somehow...after every activity, they all came back to the unfinished boat on the porch, without any adult prompting them, again and again after every activity, meal and distraction.

Each time they made a little more progress until eventually the boat was ready.

On Saturday evening my daughter looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, "This is really hard."

I smiled, "It is. But look what you've built."

Then I asked her, "Did you have fun? Did you learn anything?"

She nodded.

Then I asked another question one that made it all worth it and put a big smile on her face and skip in her step, "Can I tell you something I learned from watching you lead this project?"

For a split second she looked confused but then put on her listening ears and said, "You learned something from me?"

"I did. I have been thinking about myself while watching you and when I was younger, I probably would have pushed everyone to keep working until the project was finished. You didn't do that at all, instead you let your friends be kids and made time for every activity they wanted to do. You made what mattered to them matter to you more than your boat and because of that... they kept coming back. That's real leadership. When did you get so big and where did you learn to do that?"

She quietly smiled, "I learned it from you, Dadda. You always do that with me. We go play, and then when we come home we do the things that have to get done. You and Momma let me choose my schedule as long as everything gets finished and as long as we do we don't have to have those long boring talks."

That one hit me harder than I expected, first I didn't realize I had been modeling that behavior. For the record... apparently the long conversations about choices and consequences are considered the punishment.

The next morning they named the boat The Friendship.

Two of the girls had already gone home, but the remaining crew carried the boat to the water.

I gave them a few instructions about where and how to sit, and helped them understand the rules. When the raace began I pulled them into the water and The Friendship floated. Not just for a minute, it carried the two remaining girls through the entire race.

It was the only boat in the kids' race with two passengers, and it stayed afloat until they decided to jump out themselves.

They didn't win the race, but those four little girls built their own boat without much help from any adults. I can't say for sure but by the looks of many of the kids boats I'd guess that they had a good amount of help.

These four girls built theirs together, without any fights or arguments or hard feelings.

Driving home with soaked cardboard in the back of the truck and what felt like a small fortune in duct tape, I could hear my daughter and her friend chanting from the back of the truck:

"It floated! It floated! It floated!"

As I reflected about this past weekend, I realized something I may have forgotten.

Leadership isn't always about pushing harder.

Sometimes it's about creating an environment where people want to come back and finish what they started.

Ownership can't be forced, it has to be earned.

Sometimes the best thing a leader can do is not take over, sometimes it's to take a step back, teach and then trust the team...and let them build the boat.