I should start by telling you that my kids, like yours, are the smartest kids in the world. And of course, they’ve gone to the finest schools. Given their vast intellect and durable educational pedigree, you’d be right to assume that the words “yeah Dad, I know” often land on my ears.
Earlier this summer, we were prepping for an outdoor party. In a spectacular feat of masculine performance, I’d used my huge tractor to give our tiny property a proper coif, and now it was time for the push mower and weedwhacker to finish the job.
A nap at the top of my mind, I asked my kids to perform the tasks they were born to do. The younger one (always a people pleaser) grabbed the mower and headed for the frontiers of our lawn. The older one, Sam, was excited by our new weedwhacker — a snazzy Makita 18v model — and after some brief instruction that he assured me he did not need, he set out.
Sam returned nearly instantly, claiming victory over the task — but even from my then-current position of repose, I could see that the work was barely started, let alone complete. I lifted my hat, mildly annoyed at the interruption. “You’re not done. I can see stuff along the driveway, back here around the porch… and around those trees.” I gestured lazily, eyelids half shut, attempting to remain drowsy.
“Got it,” Sam said with the type of self-assurance that comes with a score of 36 on the ACT. He turned promptly and returned to the work and I, for a moment, celebrated the peerless quality of my parenting skills. Barely had I returned to my nap when, Sam returned again. “All done,” he said. I grumbled.
Everbody Knows
Everybody knows a weedwhacker is easy to operate. The trigger turns the spinney thing, so as the operator you squeeze, steer, and voila — weeds are whacked. If you’ve got a full battery and plenty of line, it’s about as simple as any power tool can get. And yet here stood the product of a fine educational system (and remarkable genetics!) absolutely unable to complete this simple task.
And that’s the challenge with “everybody knows.” Because not everybody knows. Perhaps you’re familiar with some things that “everybody knows” at schools:
- We don’t need signs on our campus. Everybody knows which building is which.
- Everybody knows that if we invite a teacher for an interview, we pay their travel costs.
- Everybody knows when our fiscal year ends, and what “current use funds” are, and they definitely understand terms like “planned giving” and acronyms like “RMD” and “CRT.”
- Everybody knows how colleges work: EA, ED1, and ED2 are easy for parents to understand.
- Everybody knows that our written policies aren’t really how things run; they’ll ask for an exception if they need it.
In my work, the phrase “everybody knows” is a cue to dig deeper.
Who is Everyone?
In my work, the phrase “everybody knows” is a signal to dig deeper. Often, this phrase indicates a host of unexplored topics or, worse, that inertia or implicit bias might be at work.
If we want to invite a more diverse array of people and ideology to our campuses, we need to acknowledge that “not everybody knows.” If we want to uncover the problems in our processes — the reason things aren’t working — we need to challenge the idea that people “know” how things are supposed to work. If we want to eliminate the friction in our admission and fundraising practices, we have to be open to the idea that not everybody knows.
In an increasingly complex and competitive environment, these gaps between what employees and customers “actually” know vs. what you “assume” they know can be a huge source of friction and frustration — and worse. If instead of “everybody” knowing the way things work, only a privileged few do, then it can be a huge source of inequity and or even legal risk.
Sometimes it’s as simple as spelling things out. Assume there are novices in the crowd. Provide primers and introductions. Prep a handout which covers the basics. At the highest levels, make sure the strategic plan is explicitly connected to the real world, on-the-ground factors that employees face day to day. And make sure your student, parent, and employee handbooks are correct, complete, and highly readable.
The Detail Trimmer
Back on my lawn, I was forced to abandon my nap and walk alongside Sam, pointing out each bit of greenery he should trim. When we finished, he lifted the harness over his head and turned to me in frustration: “You know, most of that was grass, not weeds.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, “the whole point is to trim where the mower can’t reach. Everybody knows that.”
Sam grumbled. “Then why is it called a weedwhacker! I have been trying to identify weeds!” he said, “This is a detail trimmer, not a weedwhacker.”
I’m lucky that my teenagers, who, like yours, already know absolutely everything, are still willing to teach me a thing or two.
David Thiel
David Thiel is a design, systems, and strategic thinker experienced in communications, branding, operations management, and organizational alignment. He is the founder and principal of Aptonym Strategy. For more information or to connect, visit David’s LinkedIn Profile.
