 Yesterday, I was on my way to help a client, and I found myself in the middle of Friday traffic. Picture this: multi-lane road narrowing down, bumper-to-bumper, cars crawling like we were evacuating the coast before a hurricane.
To my right, a man in one of those giant “soccer mom” SUVs (you know the kind: big enough to haul a whole team plus snacks) decided his lane ending wasn’t his problem. Instead of slowing down, he pushed forward, aiming for the six inches of space in front of me. At first, I thought maybe he didn’t see me. I tapped my horn. He looked straight at me…and kept coming. I had a choice:
Most of us think strength means holding our ground. But sometimes, real strength is in yielding. Bruce Lee said, “Be like water.” So I flowed. I let him in. And I kept the bigger mission intact. Now, Think About Parenting Parents, you’re me in traffic. Your teen? They’re the SUV driver.
And you? You’ve got the choice. You can hold your ground, clash with them head-on, and risk damage to the relationship. Or you can adapt, show patience, and guide them forward. Parenting Lessons From Friday Traffic
Parenting isn’t about bulldozing your way through every conflict. It’s about balancing firmness with empathy, and knowing when to stand strong and when to flow. Because the goal isn’t proving who’s right. The goal is helping your child learn how to merge safely into adulthood. Parents, be like water.
0 Comments
 One Saturday afternoon, while working as desk sergeant/dispatcher at Columbus Air Force Base, I got a call about two groups of preteen girls who had gotten into a brawl. Yes, a full-on playground scrap. Patrol units went out, broke it up, and everyone went home with nothing more than a story to tell.
When our shift sergeant came back, he wrote up the report and handed it to me. As I read it, one line made me stop: “…the white girl was named Clare and the colored girl was named Mary.” I looked at him and said, “You might want to change that word ‘colored’ to African American or Black.” He looked puzzled. “Why?” “Because this isn’t the 1950s. It’s the 1990s, and words like that don’t fit anymore. They’re offensive, maybe even seen as racist.” He corrected it, but the fact that he wrote it that way in the first place stuck with me. It wasn’t just a word problem, it was a growth problem. Why This Matters for Parents That sergeant was in his 40s, from a small town, and he hadn’t kept up with how the world had changed. He was stuck. And when leaders get stuck, so do the people they lead. It made me realize: whether in the military, at work, or at home, growth isn’t optional. If we don’t adapt as times change, we risk holding back the people who are looking to us for guidance. And parents, this is exactly what we work on with your kids in martial arts. They’re learning kicks, punches, and forms, sure, but they’re also learning how to adapt, adjust, and grow when life changes. Lessons for Our Kids (and Us)
The sergeant in that story wasn’t a bad man, but he was a man who hadn’t grown with the times. And that’s a lesson we pass on to our kids here every day: You can’t stay stuck in the past if you want to thrive in the future. Because resilience, just like leadership, and yes, even like milk, doesn’t age well unless you keep it fresh.  Years ago, when I was stationed at Incirlik AB, Turkey, I was working a midnight shift as the desk sergeant. Out of nowhere, I got a call from the hospital staff:
“Our shift leader, a young lieutenant, just backed his Humvee into the emergency room.” That’s not a sentence you expect to hear often. Luckily, no one was hurt, the damage wasn’t catastrophic, and the Humvee was still driveable. But it was my job to write the incident report. A few minutes later, the lieutenant came into the law enforcement desk. I asked if he was okay, he said yes. Then I started asking questions for the report. His excuse? “My brakes failed.” So I asked, “How did you get here?” He looked me in the eye and said, “I drove it. It’s parked outside.” Now, you don’t have to be a mechanic to know that if your brakes “fail,” you don’t keep driving across base and park the vehicle neatly in front of the desk. So in my report, I wrote his words exactly as he told me, just to highlight the absurdity: “The lieutenant said the brakes failed on the Humvee, then he proceeded to drive it to the law enforcement desk where he parked it outside.” At the time, I thought I was just documenting a bad excuse. Later, I realized it was bigger than that. It was about integrity, and the dangerous message a leader sends when they try to cover up a mistake. The Parenting Parallel Now, let’s bring this home. As parents, we’re the first leaders our children ever have. And just like in the military or in the workplace, how we handle our mistakes shapes the culture of our home. When we mess up (and we will), we have two options: 1. Cover it up and hope our kids don’t notice (spoiler: they always notice). 2. Own it, admit it, and show them how to handle mistakes with honesty. That lieutenant missed a chance to lead with integrity. But parents can’t afford to miss that chance at home. Why Integrity Matters in Parenting
Final Thought for Parents Your kids don’t need a perfect parent. They need a real one. A parent who admits when they were wrong, apologizes when they fall short, and shows what it looks like to take responsibility. Integrity in parenting isn’t about never making mistakes. It’s about owning them so your kids know they can trust you. Don’t be the parent who drives the Humvee into the hospital and insists the brakes didn’t work. Be the parent who says, “I messed up, and here’s what I learned.” That honesty is the foundation of your child’s trust, confidence, and character.  Early in my Air Force career, I had to write my first performance report. It’s the military version of a yearly progress report, except it could determine promotions, assignments, and a person’s future.
The rating scale ran from 1 to 5. A 5 meant they were exceptional. A 1? Let’s just say they were on their way out. One of my subordinates, a young K-9 handler, received a 3 from me, an average score. I wrote the evaluation, justified the rating, and sent it to my supervisor. I thought I had done a good job. My supervisor called me into his office after reading it. He looked at me and said, “Kinchen, your write-up doesn’t match the 3. You’ve got two options: either change the narrative to justify the lower score or raise the score to reflect the performance you described.” I took a second, then bumped the rating up to a 4. Because deep down, I knew I had let my personal feelings get in the way. I didn’t love how the young man lived his life outside of work. But his personal choices weren’t breaking the law, they weren’t affecting his job, and they weren’t putting anyone in danger. In other words, they had no business being part of his evaluation. What This Has to Do with Parenting You might be thinking, “Cool military story, Cliff, but I’m raising a kid, not leading a troop.” True. But the same principle applies. Too many times, we judge our kids based on what we prefer instead of how they’re actually doing. We let our values, our personalities, even our pasts creep into how we evaluate their growth. We end up focusing on:
Instead of focusing on:
If the answer to those questions is yes, then maybe they’re doing better than we’re giving them credit for. What My Supervisor Did Right Another lesson came from what my supervisor didn’t do. He didn’t change the rating himself. He didn’t tell me what to do. He laid out the situation and gave me the responsibility to make the right call. That’s parenting. We can’t (and shouldn’t) make every decision for our kids. But we can put them in situations where they learn to think, decide, and grow, and then trust them enough to do it. And maybe…trust ourselves enough to let go of our preferences when performance looks different than expected. Takeaways for Parents
Your kid doesn’t need you to grade their choices based on your life. They need you to evaluate them based on their effort, their heart, and their journey. Final Thought Sometimes the best parenting doesn’t come from a book or a podcast. Sometimes it comes from a military performance report. I’m glad I learned that lesson back then, because now, as a parent and as someone who teaches kids every day, I see how much it matters. Not just in the dojo. Not just in the classroom. But in life.  About a year into my amateur kickboxing career, I was booked for an exhibition bout in Jackson, Tennessee. For those who don’t know, a kickboxing exhibition is supposed to be controlled: no winners, no egos, just a chance to display skill, technique, and sportsmanship. Think “showcase,” not “slugfest.”
Well…that was the plan. When I walked into the locker room, the guy I was scheduled to fight was stretching his leg up on a pillar like he was auditioning for a martial arts movie. My buddy Tom looked at me and asked, “Are you worried?” Without missing a beat, I told him, “I’m not that tall.” The fight started fine, until my opponent threw a spinning heel kick with full force. Exhibition or not, that kick would’ve taken my head off if I hadn’t dodged it. I gave him a look I thought said, “Really?” but he must’ve read it as “I’m scared,” because he came at me harder. I was about to return fire when my coach shouted for me to dial it back. Round one ended, and I complained in the corner. My coach reminded me: this was supposed to be controlled, we were in “foreign territory,” and I had the skill to handle him without escalating. He’d already spoken to the other coach, who promised his guy would tone it down. Round two…nope. Same thing. Full power punches and kicks. And this time, I had a decision to make: risk serious injury or protect myself. So I set a boundary the only way the ring allows; I landed a perfectly timed side kick that dropped him. Unfortunately for him, his elbow met his ribs, and the medic ruled them broken. Now, hurting him wasn’t my goal. But boundaries had been set, rules of the exhibition, a warning from his coach, and he crossed them repeatedly. At some point, you either enforce your boundary or get taken advantage of. That fight taught me something I’ve carried into life and leadership:
In business, this shows up when a supervisor piles extra work on you because you never say no. In leadership, it’s when managers shift responsibility without clarity, and employees suffer in silence. In life, it’s when people test how far they can push before you push back. If you don’t set the line, someone else will draw it for you, and you probably won’t like where they put it. Sometimes enforcing boundaries looks like a calm conversation. Sometimes it looks like a side kick to the ribs (metaphorically, of course, unless you’re in the ring). Either way, it’s leadership. So here’s the lesson: Boundaries aren’t about being harsh; they’re about being clear. And clarity creates respect.  My daughter came to me recently with one of those “internet debate” questions.
You know the kind: designed to light the comments section on fire while providing zero actual information. The version she shared went something like this: “Would you rather your daughter be in the woods with a bear or a man?” Now, I’m not here to argue which is the right answer. What caught my attention was what caught hers; there was no context. We knew nothing about the bear, the man, or even the woods. Are we talking about a wild grizzly or a teddy bear from Build-A-Bear? Is the man a park ranger…or someone who isn’t? Are the woods a national park…or the landscaping behind a Home Depot? Yet, without this information, people were supposed to answer, and then be shamed when the “hidden” context came out and their answer was suddenly “wrong.” That’s not discussion. That’s a gotcha. And here’s the real problem: this isn’t just an internet thing. Parents do it. Leaders do it. Coworkers do it.
Here’s the leadership truth: Clarity is kindness. Context is power. Without them, you’re setting someone up to fail, and wasting time and resources in the process. Sometimes, the ambiguity isn’t an accident. It’s intentional. People withhold key information so they can say “gotcha” later or twist the response to support their point in an argument. The trouble is, that behavior doesn’t solve anything; whether it’s about doing the dishes, completing a quarterly report, or addressing serious issues like sexual assault. If the problem is worth solving, it’s worth addressing with honesty and the full picture. Otherwise, all you’re doing is fueling controversy, division, and mistrust. For the record, my daughter’s fine no matter which option you pick. She’s been trained how to handle herself in the presence of either, man or bear. And yes, that training came from me. Martial arts has a way of preparing you for a lot more than just a punch. Leadership Takeaway: If you want results, at home, at work, or in the world, give people the tools and the truth. Clarity and context aren’t “nice-to-haves.” They’re the foundation for informed decisions, trust, and real progress.  At our summer camp this year, we had a 10-year-old who flat-out refused to play dodgeball.
Now, I’m used to kids avoiding dodgeball because they’re afraid of being hit. That’s not new. But his reason was different: He didn’t want to play because he didn’t like games where he could lose and be “out” while others kept playing. So, I asked him who his favorite soccer player was. Without hesitation, he said, “Lionel Messi.” Perfect. I explained that even Messi, arguably the best soccer player in the world, has missed more goals than most players have even attempted. And there were times his team made it to the world championships without him scoring a single decisive goal. But here’s the thing, Messi didn’t stop playing. He didn’t stop trying. He didn’t avoid situations where he might fail. I told him, “Losing is just an opportunity to get better.” If Messi never missed, never stumbled, and never lost, he wouldn’t be the player he is today. That conversation got me thinking: Why are we so afraid of failure? 1. Growth Means Letting Them Struggle (Safely) If your kid never stumbles, they never learn to get back up. I’m not saying push them down, that’s a different blog post and possibly a court date, but do let them face challenges without rushing to “fix” it. In sports, business, or life, the lessons that stick are the ones we earn through effort, not handouts. If you’re a leader in a company, the same applies to your team. Give them space to problem-solve instead of handing them the answers. 2. Teach Them the “Why” Behind Failure It’s easy to say “Just try again.” But explaining why failure is part of success builds resilience. For kids, that might sound like, “Every miss is practice for your next win.” For employees, it could be, “If we never risk, we never innovate.” When people understand the purpose of failure, they stop fearing it and start using it. 3. Reward Effort, Not Just Results If kids think only winning counts, they’ll avoid situations that could make them look less than perfect. Same with employees, if the only thing you celebrate is the final sale or the big deal, you’ll stifle creativity and risk-taking. I’m not a fan of the “everyone gets a trophy” approach, but ignoring a child’s, or an employee’s, genuine effort can be just as damaging as over-rewarding them. Both extremes rob them of the motivation to keep improving. Praise the attempt. Praise the persistence. Praise the person who gets back in the game after being “out.” In the long run, resilience beats perfection. 4. Model It Yourself If you want your kids, or your team, to embrace failure as part of growth, let them see you try something that might not work. Show them how you handle setbacks. Own your mistakes without hiding them. Kids and employees are professional hypocrisy detectors. If you tell them failure is fine but they only see you hiding yours, they’ll know you don’t mean it. 5. Prepare Them for the Day You’re Not There One day, your kids will make decisions without you in the room. One day, your employees will have to make calls without your approval. If you’ve let them fail in safe environments, taught them the why, and praised their effort, they’ll be ready. The Bottom Line Parenting is leadership. So is running a business. The goal isn’t to protect people from failure, it’s to prepare them to face it, learn from it, and keep going. So, the next time your child, or your employee, avoids something because they might lose, remind them of Lionel Messi. Even the greatest in the world spend plenty of time “out” before they get back in the game. And if all else fails, remember: sometimes the most important lesson you can teach is that you don’t have to win to grow. You just have to play.  There’s a fine line between telling the truth and telling too much of it…or so I was told.
Back when I was serving as a leadership instructor, we were piloting a new exercise on giving feedback. The idea was simple enough, draw a random name from a bowl and give that person three things:
That’s right. Face to face. With the whole organization in the room: support staff, instructors, everyone. What could go wrong? Now I’ve never been one to shy away from an uncomfortable truth, especially if it’s intended to help someone grow. So when it was my turn, I gave my feedback directly, without malice, but with purpose. I told my colleague, who by the way, is brilliant and knew the curriculum inside and out; that their tone and demeanor often came across as condescending, and it was causing students to shut down. Not because they weren’t capable, but because their delivery made people feel small. The room went quiet. Real quiet. Then we were promptly put on a break. During that break, a young support team member approached me and said, “You’re too honest.” I smiled and said, “There’s no such thing.” Honesty Isn’t the Problem…Avoidance Is Here’s the thing: every person before me gave feedback that was clearly watered down. I’m not knocking kindness, I’m all for tact. But I am against wasting someone’s time with feedback that does nothing to help them grow. What’s the point of an exercise on constructive feedback if we tiptoe around the truth? We do this in our personal lives too. We avoid telling the people closest to us the things they need to hear. Not because we don’t care, but because we do, and we’re afraid the truth might hurt them. But here’s what I’ve learned: We don’t grow from comfort. We grow from constructive discomfort. And withholding truth to spare someone’s feelings can do more harm than good, especially when it delays their growth or causes issues that could have been prevented. Leadership Means Having the Courage to Care Enough to Tell the Truth I don’t give honest feedback to tear people down. That’s not leadership…that’s ego. I give honest feedback because I believe in the potential of the people around me. And I welcome honest feedback myself, even when it stings, especially when it stings. Because I know it keeps me from becoming complacent or stagnant. If your goal is to build people up, you can’t do it by walking on eggshells. And you can’t lead by only telling people what they want to hear. You lead by helping them become better, even when it’s uncomfortable in the moment. And Just So You Know… We never implemented that feedback exercise into the curriculum. I guess they figured too much honesty might’ve taken out half the staff by week two. But me? I still believe the truth, delivered with respect, is one of the most underused tools in leadership today. Want a stronger team? Give them the truth. Just make sure it’s the kind that helps them rise, not retreat.  I didn’t grow up around leadership.
I grew up in Detroit, in a house full of noise; yelling, tension, and survival. There were days the heat didn’t work. Nights when dinner was whatever we could scavenge. And plenty of times I sat wondering if the chaos would ever calm down. My mom did the best she could with what she had. She was tough, smart, and stretched herself thin trying to hold everything together. But when she died unexpectedly when I was 17, the bottom fell out from under me. No fallback plan. No steady hand. No guide. My father was in the home, but he was a “street guy”, and I say that with no hate in my heart, just honesty. There wasn’t much in the way of an example of being a good leader. That’s a story for another time. But after my mother passed, he walked the world lost…until he died. So, I started piecing things together on my own, because I had to. At around 10 years old, I found my first real examples of leadership; not in my neighborhood or my home, but in martial arts movies, action heroes, and Black Belt magazine. Now, I know what you’re thinking, “You’re telling me Arnold, Bruce Lee, and a subscription to Black Belt Magazine raised you?” Yes. Yes, I am. Because even though those were fictional characters, they gave me something real: a blueprint.
“If I ever get the chance to lead; to raise a family, to guide a team, to stand in front of someone who needs direction, they’ll never have to wonder where I stand. I’ll show up. I’ll be consistent. I’ll be who I said I was…even when it’s hard.” That’s why leading by example isn’t optional to me…it’s personal. It’s not some theory I picked up in a leadership book or a workshop I attended. It’s something I needed in my life before I ever knew how to put it into words. When you grow up without consistency, without someone showing up when it counts, you understand just how much it matters. And now? I try to be that person in every role I step into: 🟢 As a father 🟢 As an instructor 🟢 As a supervisor 🟢 As a recruiter 🟢 As a man And sometimes, leadership shows up in the quietest moments. The other day, I sent a text to both my daughters. I told them that I know I don’t say it often enough, but I brag on them all the time; to other parents, to friends, to students. I told them how proud I am of the good things they’re doing with their lives. And I told them I love them. They both responded that they loved me too. But Payton, my youngest, added something that stopped me in my tracks. She said: “Awww I love you too dad, thank you for always being there for us.” Whew. I’ve trained in full-contact kickboxing, survived Desert Storm, led law enforcement teams, taught leadership across the country, and I still wasn’t ready for that uppercut. But you know what? That hit felt good. Because I realized something: I took the example I never had…and became the example I always needed. That’s what leadership really is. Not a job title. Not a rank. Not a plaque on the wall. It’s showing up, especially when it’s inconvenient. It’s doing the right thing, even when no one’s looking. And it’s becoming the kind of person your kids will someday thank you for being, even if you used to practice sidekicks on the couch cushions and thought Jackie Chan was a father figure.  When I used to teach leadership in a classroom setting, I’d kick off one of our lessons by asking students a question that always sparked debate:
“What’s more important: being a good leader, or being a good manager?” Some would say leadership, because if people don’t trust you enough to follow, nothing gets done. Others would say management, because you can’t complete a mission without proper structure and resources. A few would play it safe and say, “both.” (Those were usually the wise ones.) I let the back-and-forth go for a bit, then I’d drop this on them: A good leader shapes the climate, not just the plan. They influence with presence, inspire with vision, and change the energy in a room just by how they walk into it. But… A good manager builds the engine and keeps it humming. They make sure things run smoothly, keep people accountable without smothering them, and translate goals into systems that work. Now here’s why I’m sharing this with you, not as a leadership trainer, but as a parent: Parenting is both. You have to be the leader and the manager. And if you lean too far in either direction, something gets out of balance. Lead too much without managing? You’ll have a house full of dreams and zero routines. (Ask anyone who’s ever tried to raise a teenager on “inspiration” alone.) Manage too much without leading? You might keep the trains running on time, but your home starts to feel more like a factory than a family. Your kids don’t just need rules…they need reasons. They don’t just need structure…they need someone to model what strong character looks like. They need someone who shows up with both vision and clarity. And here’s the thing: your most valuable “resources” as a parent are your children. They’re not tasks to manage or problems to fix. They’re people to guide. And if you’re not inspiring them, don’t be surprised when they stop listening, even if everything’s “on schedule.” One of my favorite lines I used to share in class was this: “A good manager makes sure people are on the schedule. A good leader makes sure it’s the right people on the schedule.” In the home, that might look like more than just making sure chores are assigned. It’s making sure each child feels seen, supported, and developed in a way that fits who they are. So yes, parenting takes vision. It also takes strategy. It takes both leadership and management…every single day. And just like peanut butter and jelly…one without the other is fine. But both together? That’s when it really works. |
AuthorCliff Kinchen is a lifelong martial artist and seasoned leadership trainer who blends combat discipline with real-world leadership insight. With decades of experience—from Air Force instruction to corporate boardrooms—he helps others grow through confidence, character, and challenge. His writing sparks reflection, inspires action, and invites readers to lead from the inside out Archives
September 2025
Categories |
RSS Feed
Proudly Serving
|
CORNELIUS
|
DAVIDSON
|
HUNTERSVILLE
|
CHARLOTTE
|
CONCORD
|
KINCHEN MARTIAL ARTS academy
MEMBERSHIPS AND AWARDS
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Telephone |
Information |
HoursMonday: 4:30PM - 8:00PM
Tuesday: 4:30PM - 8:00PM Wednesday: 4:30PM - 8:00PM Thursday: 4:30PM - 8:00PM Friday: 4:30PM - 7:30PM Saturday: CloseD/Special Event Sunday: Closed/Special event |
© kinchen martial arts | cornelius, nc | website design by Rickhouse Marketing®