 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.
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 Many organizations have formal mentorship programs, especially for employees showing potential for leadership roles. And I’m not knocking that. I’ve seen some great mentor-mentee relationships come from structured pairings. But I’ve also seen some forced matches that feel more like a corporate version of speed dating: awkward, ineffective, and destined to fizzle out by Q2.
So let’s talk about the mentor side of that equation. According to the dictionary, a mentor is “an experienced and trusted adviser.” Not just someone who knows the ropes, but someone the mentee trusts to help them navigate the climb. That second part, the trust, can’t be assigned. It has to be earned. And that’s where some programs miss the mark. Let me share a story. While serving as a superintendent at the Air Force leadership school in Florida, I also taught martial arts a couple nights a week. One of my students worked in Security Forces; the Air Force’s military police, and also my old stomping grounds. This young airman had mentioned a few times how disconnected he felt from leadership. He didn’t feel like anyone really had his back. Then one night, around 10 or 11pm, he called me. He was going through some personal challenges and just needed someone to talk to. So I said, “Come on over.” We sat and talked for hours, about his professional frustrations, his personal life, and how all of it was starting to bleed into his performance. I knew exactly what he meant when he said Security Forces could be unforgiving. We had a reputation of “eating our own” when someone was struggling. I’d seen it. I’d lived it. And I wasn’t going to let him go through it alone. I gave him some guidance. Not “fix it all” advice, but real talk; how to approach leadership, how to advocate for himself, and how to handle the personal side so it didn’t derail his career. We stayed in touch long after I retired. We still talk today. He didn’t stay in the military like I did, but he’s doing big things now; he started a tech company that helps transitioning service members. In other words: he’s mentoring people who need it, just like he once did. Now, here’s the thing: I was never officially his mentor. Nobody assigned me. We didn’t fill out any forms or schedule quarterly check-ins. He found someone he connected with, someone who understood his goals, his struggles, and the context he was operating in. That made all the difference. That’s why I believe mentorship works best when it’s mutually chosen. When the mentee finds someone who aligns with their values, goals, and personality, and when the mentor genuinely wants to help that person succeed on their terms, not just turn them into a carbon copy of themselves, that’s when growth happens. Sure, structured programs have their place. But, if you’re serious about developing real leaders, make room for the kind of mentorship thats built on connection…not convenience. The right mentor doesn’t just show up on a roster…they show up when it matters most.  Every year, like clockwork, my wife Melissa has made sure each of our four kids started the school year with a new backpack and a new lunchbox.
Now, we’ve been married nearly 30 years, and while I’ve always admired how intentional and thoughtful she is as a mother, I’d sometimes joke and ask, “Why do they need a new backpack and lunchbox again? Last year’s still looks fine!” Sure, I understood the new pencils, folders, and notebooks, those get used up. But backpacks? Most of them were still in good shape. So why spend the extra money? It took me a while to fully understand what Melissa already knew. It’s not about the backpack. It’s about how it makes them feel. That new backpack says to a child: “You matter. This year is a fresh start. You can do this.” Even something as simple as a new lunchbox can give a child a spark of confidence. And when they feel better about themselves, it shows. They walk into that classroom a little taller. They participate more. They feel prepared, and not just with supplies, but with a sense of identity and self-worth. I’ve seen it happen. A new year, a new backpack, and suddenly the same child who was withdrawn or struggling last year seems more motivated and engaged. It’s not magic—but it is meaningful. It’s a reset button. If the last school year ended with tough grades, social struggles, or bullying, a fresh start, symbolized by something as simple as a new backpack, can offer quiet reassurance: You’re not stuck in last year’s story. And Melissa didn’t stop at just the backpack and lunchbox. Every day, she tucked a note of encouragement or affirmation into our kids’ lunchboxes. Nothing long, just something timely and relevant. A “good luck on your test today,” or “Have a great day. I love you.” Little things with big impact. When our kids opened their lunchbox, they weren’t just fed…they were seen and supported. The Leadership Lesson in Parenting As parents, we sometimes default to logic, if it still works, why replace it? But kids don’t just operate on logic. They operate on emotion, identity, and encouragement. Sometimes, the best parenting decision isn’t about function, it’s about what fuels their spirit. And here’s something I’ve learned over the years as a father, martial arts instructor, and leadership coach: When people feel prepared and valued, they show up differently. That applies to our kids too. When they believe they’re stepping into something new, something they have control over, they carry themselves with more confidence. The ROI on That $25 Backpack Let’s be real, a new backpack or lunchbox each year isn’t a necessity. But if it motivates your child to engage more, stand taller, try harder, or believe in themselves just a little more…is it really unnecessary? In our home, Melissa never saw it as just a purchase. She saw it as a message: one of love, belief, and possibility. And if you ask me, that’s the kind of leadership our kids need most from us.  When I volunteered for recruiting duty in the Air Force, it was pitched as a prestigious position. One of the best sales schools in the country. High autonomy. Big impact. All true. What wasn’t included in the sales pitch? The pressure. The long hours. The emotional drain. Or the fact that it was one of the most stressful assignments outside of combat operations.
Still, I thrived in it. But I’ll never forget one particular quarter when I had a spike in cancellations; applicants who had to drop out due to things completely out of my control: injuries, legal issues, pregnancies. Even though I had no hand in those outcomes, they still counted against me. That’s how the system worked. Because of that spike, a training team from headquarters scheduled a visit to “evaluate” my situation. That really meant: they were coming to see if I’d done anything wrong. The day before their visit, I had a 101-degree fever. When I woke up the next morning, still at 99, I suited up and went in anyway. That’s just who I am. My supervisor, who was ordered to be present, was already sitting at my desk when I walked in. He looked at me and said, “You look sick.” I replied, “I am.” And then he said something I’ll never forget: “You know what you need to do?” “What?” “Make goal…so you can take some time off.” Now, I made goal that quarter. The training team came and went. But that moment stuck with me. I thought about the fact that he could have, and should have sent me home. He had access to all the data. He knew I hadn’t dropped the ball. And if he had stepped in for me, I would’ve been out a day or two at most, instead of potentially sidelined for much longer. Fast forward a few months: another office on our 10-person team was about to miss goal again. My supervisor called me up and said, “I know you already made goal. Do you have any applicants you can send up so we can make mission?” Now here’s the thing, any good sales person knows the game. You don’t use up next month’s numbers unless you have a reason. I had a couple applicants ready. But I remembered how he treated me when I was sick. I remembered how he looked out for himself instead of his people. So I told him I didn’t have anybody to send. Here’s the Leadership Lesson: Your people might respect your position, but they won’t go the extra mile for you just because of your title. They go the extra mile when they know you’ll do the same for them. That’s how trust and influence are built. Not in the big motivational speeches, but in the small, human moments where you prove you’re in it with them. Had he done the right thing back then, sent me home and stepped up, I likely would’ve gone out of my way to help him hit his goal. Instead? He missed it. And I took a well-earned day off.  Eighteen months into my first enlistment, I received orders for Incirlik Air Base in Turkey. I had never been out of the country before, there furthest I’d been from Michigan prior to my assignment in California was basic training in San Antonio, Texas. It was all foreign to me, literally and figuratively.
What I didn’t know at the time was that I’d be arriving just months before the start of Operation Desert Storm. During the first week of the war, I was assigned, along with another young airman, to provide security for the housing units of the senior officers overseeing operations. We were posted on the midnight shift in January. It was bitterly cold, and we were doing our best to stay alert in a loud, diesel Dodge truck when we faintly heard something strange over the base loudspeakers. I killed the engine. “ALARM RED, MOPP LEVEL 4.” That’s not something you want to hear faintly. That’s a command to immediately put on full chemical gear and take cover, because an attack is either imminent or already in progress. My partner hadn’t been issued his chemical suit yet. He only had his mask. I told him to put on the opened training suit, hoping it would give him some degree of protection. At that point, we had no idea what we were facing. We later found out that Iraqi forces had launched multiple Scud missiles toward the base. What struck me in that moment was something even more urgent than the warning: if we barely heard it, how could the officers inside, sound asleep, have heard anything at all? They didn’t know. We were two junior airmen. On paper, our job was to take cover and protect ourselves. But I knew those officers had critical roles to play. If they didn’t hear the alarm, if they weren’t warned, if they didn’t make it to their posts, it could impact the entire mission. So we made a decision. My partner went to one building, and I went to the other. We banged on doors, shook people awake, gave the alarm directly. They got up. They got moving. They reported to their posts. None of the missiles hit the base, thanks to the U.S. Army’s missile defense system. But I often wonder what would’ve happened if we had done what we were told and only what we were told. We were later awarded the Air Force Commendation Medal for our actions. But the real lesson wasn’t about recognition. It was about awareness. It was about leadership. 🔎 Leadership Isn’t Always at the Top Here’s the truth: In many organizations, senior leaders have no idea how close they are to danger. They’re inside. They’re asleep at the wheel. They’re trusting systems to do what they’ve always done, without realizing the world outside is changing fast. And the junior people they overlook, the ones they assume are just there to follow orders, are often the ones closest to the ground. They’re hearing the faint alarms. They’re feeling the cracks before they show up in boardrooms or after-action reports. And sometimes, they’re the ones who end up saving the mission. 🔦 Leadership Lessons from the Field Based on that experience and what I’ve learned since, here are the lessons I’d offer to leaders in any organization: 1. Never Underestimate the Awareness of Junior Personnel Just because someone isn’t in the corner office doesn’t mean they’re not the first to see a threat coming. 2. Train for Initiative, Not Just Compliance Yes, we need structure and chain of command. But we also need people who can think, assess, and act when the playbook doesn’t apply. 3. Create a Culture Where Action Is Respected at All Levels Don’t just recognize performance; recognize awareness, courage, and the decision to protect the mission, even if it wasn’t part of the job description. 4. Keep Lines of Communication Open…Especially From the Bottom Up If the people closest to the real action can’t be heard, your entire organization is vulnerable. 🎯 Final Thought You don’t need a title to be a leader. You don’t need permission to do what’s right. And sometimes the most critical decisions are made by people no one’s watching. So if you’re leading a team, especially a large one, ask yourself: Do you only trust the people at the top of your org chart? Or are you investing in the potential at the ground level too? Because leadership isn’t about waiting for someone else to act. It’s about hearing the alarm when no one else does, and having the courage to wake them up.  As a small business owner and leadership trainer, I rarely walk into a business without asking bigger questions.
What kind of experience are they creating? How do they treat their team? What impact are they having on the community around them? To most customers, a business is just a place to get goods or services. But to me, it’s something more. It’s a reflection of leadership, from the C-suite to the front line. And here’s what I believe: For any organization, whether it’s a global brand or a neighborhood coffee shop, the real bottom line is value. That value can take many forms. It might be the quality of a product. It could be the kindness of the team. It might be the impact they have in someone’s daily routine. It could be the way they make a customer feel seen. Yes, profit matters. But profit is a measure…not the mission. Where Big Business Often Gets It Wrong Smaller businesses tend to understand this. They know their regulars by name. They remember the “usual order.” They build loyalty through consistency and care. That’s why they’re beloved. But somewhere along the way, many larger companies lost the plot. They replaced people with self-checkout lanes. They trimmed onboarding, training, and customer service down to the bare minimum. They stopped investing in the very people who are responsible for delivering the value that once made them great. And someone in the executive suite likely justified it all with a spreadsheet. “Labor is a cost. Customers won’t care. We’ll save millions.” But what if that math is wrong? What If We Reinvested in People Instead? What if those same companies took a portion of that “savings” and invested it in:
Would there be an upfront cost? Sure. But the return on that investment could be exponential:
The True Measure of Success The truth is: we don’t stay loyal to businesses because they’re the cheapest or most convenient. We stay because they make us feel valued. If your value touches lives, builds loyalty, and strengthens your community, profit will always follow. We don’t need fewer people in business. We need better leadership behind the ones we already have. And that starts with remembering: Value isn’t just about what you sell. It’s about how you lead.  I’ve been thinking a lot about the people we put on pedestals in our society, and the ones we walk past without a second glance.
We pack stadiums for athletes who refuse accountability. We buy pay-per-view events headlined by fighters who’ve attacked people in the streets. We defend entertainers and politicians who assault, belittle, or abandon the very people they’re supposed to lead or influence. And then we barely blink when a teacher works through lunch to help a child read. We scroll past the firefighter who saved a family from a burning home. We don’t even know the names of the police officers who run toward danger while others run away. We’ve started confusing talent with value. Now, don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a good fight. I’ve competed. I’ve trained champions. I’ve been in that arena. And I enjoy a good movie or game night with my family like anyone else. But somewhere along the way, we stopped just enjoying those things and started idolizing the people who perform them; no matter what they stand for off the field or off the stage. And it’s costing us. We’ve Lowered the Bar for Influence We claim to care about leadership, accountability, and character, but when it comes time to choose who we support, follow, or fund, those values often take a backseat to fame, excitement, and spectacle. We call teachers heroes but underpay and under-resource them. We say “thank you for your service” to military members and first responders, but don’t invest in their wellbeing, training, or families. We say leadership matters, but we excuse bad behavior because the person entertains us or helps our team win. Here’s the truth: Real leadership isn’t always loud. It’s not always charismatic. And it almost never comes with a highlight reel. I’ve worn the uniform. I’ve been in the ring. I’ve also buried friends who gave more than most people will ever know. I’ve stood beside teachers, cops, firefighters, and leaders who show up daily…without applause. They don’t ask for much. But I believe they deserve more than what we give them. So, What Can We Do? I’m not here to shame anyone for liking sports, music, or movies. I enjoy them too. But I think we can do both, enjoy the entertainment and still elevate the people who hold our communities together. Here’s what that might look like:
Small things. But small things shift culture. Final Thought I don’t think the problem is that we value athletes and entertainers. The problem is that we don’t also value the people who serve, sacrifice, and shape lives in quiet, consistent ways. Real heroes don’t always trend. But they hold the line while others cross it. Maybe it’s time we stopped measuring worth by fame, and started recognizing the power of those who show up when no one’s watching. And maybe that shift starts with us.  In the military, as in life, leadership sometimes means holding the line. Other times, it means making the line visible, and giving someone the chance to cross it with honor.
Years ago, while serving as superintendent at the Airey Noncommissioned Officer Academy, I was called into a situation involving a student, TSgt Michelle C. She had stopped running during a scheduled physical training session and later disclosed that she had a history of knee issues and shin splints. This wasn’t just about missing a run. She had failed to fully disclose her condition during in-processing. That choice alone was grounds for dismissal from the academy and a formal reprimand, both of which could have significantly derailed her Air Force career. At the time, I wasn’t her direct instructor. I hadn’t built a relationship with her. And frankly, I didn’t have a personal stake in whether she stayed or went. But I listened. She explained her actions, how she was afraid to report her condition, worried it would get her sent home before she even had a chance to prove herself. Her reasoning wasn’t sound, but it was human. She asked whether to call her leadership to let them know she was being sent home. She wasn’t trying to cheat the system. She was just scared. And up until that point, she had been a model student: academically solid, respectful, and engaged. I told her to hold off on calling her unit. Then I spoke with the senior leadership team at the academy. She hadn’t earned special treatment, but she had earned a shot. So, we created a plan. She would have a structured opportunity to prepare, to train, and to pass her physical evaluation the right way. No shortcuts. No waivers. Just work. She did it. She met the standard. She graduated. And she walked across that stage knowing she had earned every bit of it. Leadership Isn’t About Who Deserves a Pass…It’s About Who Deserves a Chance What TSgt C. needed wasn’t pity, it was clarity and structure. She needed leadership that saw the whole person, not just a checkbox on a roster. In the military and in other organizations, it’s easy to become number-focused. How many seats are filled? Who’s passing the assessments? Who’s dragging the metrics down? But behind every number is a name. A story. A life. Had she been a disciplinary problem? Had her attitude or performance been poor? This would be a different story. But she showed grit and integrity, even in the way she corrected herself during questioning. And as leaders, we owe it to people like her to see beyond the paperwork. Final Thought Leadership is about discernment. It’s knowing when to apply the standard without compromise, and when to dig a little deeper before making a call that could alter someone’s future. In this case, we didn’t lower the bar. We gave someone a clear path to rise to it. And that’s what real leadership looks like.  We recently had one of our teen black belts return to class after an extended break. His parents had reached out ahead of time, expressing some concerns about his behavior as he gets ready to enter high school. He’s a bright kid, valedictorian of his 8th-grade class, but like many his age, he’s trying to find his footing.
His dad brought him to class that evening, and as we exchanged greetings, I told him how glad I was to see him back. His dad smiled and said, “I told him if he’s not going to listen to me, then listen to Master Kinchen.” We chuckled, but the moment stuck with me, especially something I shared with the student then: “I know parents can feel overbearing sometimes. But all we want is to know you’ll be able to thrive in this world when we’re no longer here.” That thought stayed with me for days. And it brought to mind the old proverb: “Give a man a fish, he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish, he eats for a lifetime.” Isn’t that what parenting really is? We’re all out here trying to raise the best fishermen we can. We enroll our kids in strong academic programs. We sign them up for sports, music lessons, martial arts, anything that helps them build skill, character, and resilience. In a way, each of those experiences adds something to their tackle box: a stronger line, better bait, a sturdy rod. I told the student’s dad, it takes a village. School might give them the bait. Piano lessons might give them the line. Martial arts? We might give them the pole. And with enough time and guidance, they’ll learn to cast, to be patient, to endure frustration, and eventually they’ll catch. Leadership Lesson: Whether in parenting, coaching, or leading a team, our role isn’t just to hand out answers, it’s to equip others to find their own. It’s to help them build the tools, the mindset, and the confidence to face life without us standing over their shoulder. That’s real leadership. So parents, keep filling those tackle boxes. Keep teaching your kids to fish. And if you’ve got a few extra fish to leave behind, that’s okay too. They’ll need something to tide them over until they can catch their own.  The other day, my daughter said she’d never had something before, I can’t even remember what it was. But I paused and said, “You have had it. Remember?” She thought about it, then smiled and said, “Oh yeah… but it was just once.”
And without thinking, I said: “Once is still more than none.” She raised her eyebrows, probably not realizing she had just sparked a moment I’d be thinking about all day. The Power of One Moment As parents, we’re wired to look for patterns:
But we forget that every streak starts with a single rep. Every habit, good or bad, starts with once. And when a child does something once, it’s no longer impossible. It’s real. Documented. Proven. So when your child:
That moment matters. Because once is more than none. Proof That It’s Possible The beauty of “once” is that it becomes evidence. It’s proof that your child can: ✅ Do the hard thing ✅ Show up when it counts ✅ Make the right decision…even under pressure And when they’re struggling with self-doubt, insecurity, or fear of failure, you can say: “You’ve already done this once. That means it’s possible. And if it’s possible, you can do it again.” That’s not just encouragement. That’s truth. As a Parent, Don’t Dismiss the Small Wins We want to see momentum, but don’t forget to celebrate the first spark. That one time they showed patience. That one time they stood up for themselves. That one time they took responsibility. Once is the start of belief. Once is momentum waiting to be multiplied. And if you treat it like it doesn’t matter, your child might too. Final Thought As a parent, coach, and instructor, I’ve learned that progress isn’t always loud. It’s often quiet. Easy to overlook. And incredibly powerful when nurtured. So the next time your child says, “But I only did it once,” you can smile and say: “That’s all it takes to prove you can.” Because once…is more than none. |
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
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