My 4-Year-Old Son Showed Me What Makes People Truly Successful

“Do You Think You Will Drink Beer When You Are Older?” I asked my three sons.

“No,” said the oldest (aged 8).

“No,” said my middle son (aged 7).

The youngest (aged 4) looked at me and paused, and with eyes full of honesty, he told his truth, “Probably, Dad.”

If you have kids, you will know they ask a lot of questions. “Can I have…?” “What’s that?” “What’s this?” Question. Question. Question. I turned it back on them by asking lots of silly questions.

They are all in their twenties now. And they all have the occasional beer. Not to excess — not like their dad. When the youngest comes home, he sometimes helps himself to a beer from the fridge.

Today, I reminded him of the answer he gave me when he was four. We laughed at the memory. It was this and other interactions I have had with my kids that helped me come to some conclusions about success.

Permit me to give you a little background.

The Fast Track programme

I spent a gruelling three days trying out for the fast-track program, which equips talented cops with the leadership skills required for promotion. I wasn’t chosen. Sam was. Sam was the most outstanding candidate there.

I’m a curious creature.

I asked Malky (in the mirror) what it was that Sam possessed that I lacked. Not out of jealousy, but admiration. I’ve written about Sam in my books, and I have nothing but praise for him.

In the babble of all those prospective senior officers, there were two quiet people. Sam and me. Yet, when I tried to get my opinion across, everyone talked over me.

When Sam spoke, everyone went quiet.

People listened to Sam.

The mechanics behind this social interaction intrigued me. And it stayed with me. The more I thought about it over the years, the more convinced I was of the reason for it.

The 48 Laws of Power

All around us, we see success defined as dog eat dog. To get ahead, we have to climb over others. He who shouts the loudest shall be heard. Our pettiness to others is one of our most obvious human failings.

But not everyone can be the boss. There is only one sun in the sky. Everyone else has to avoid obscuring the light or they get burned. If your goal is to be number one, the odds are against you.

We are told whatever will be will be. And we begin to believe it. Our self-talk fills our heads with negativity —

There’s no room at the top for you.

The competition is too hard, you will never get there.

A guy I know runs a company. He told me he receives hundreds of applications for his mediocre jobs. The low-hanging fruit, despite those jobs paying the least.

Yet his high-paying jobs, the ones that pay attractive salaries — tumbleweed. He has to use recruitment agencies to headhunt for those jobs. I asked him what he looked for in those people.

“There are always jobs for people who value themselves,” he said. “I hire people with ambition. The people who will go the extra mile. The ones who don’t worry about upsetting people, they are the ones who get the job done.”

This guy is a multi-millionaire. People listen to him. He is first into the office in the morning and last to leave at night. Despite health scares, he continues to work because he loves to outshine everyone else.

In Robert Greene’s book The 48 Laws of Power, he instructs us in the use of cunning, guile and ruthlessness.

“Learn to get others to do the work for you while you take the credit.”

Goodreads

“Keep people off-balance and in the dark by never revealing the purpose behind your actions. Guide them far enough down the wrong path and by the time they realise your intentions, it will be too late.”

I thought about this too.

The more chapters I read of Robert Greene’s book, the more insidiousness I saw in his words. The book teaches you how to cheat, disrupt, feign, fight and advance your cause to the detriment of those around you.

I recognised this in many senior officers I worked with. Those who bullied, mistreated, plagiarised, stole praise, bragged and weaselled their way into the highest of ranks. In all cases, they always revealed the purpose behind their actions in the end.

“The truth will out.”

— William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

We bad-mouthed senior officers and recited tales of wrongdoings at their hands. Stories of their deceit, trickery, and devil dancing were the currency of canteen conversations.

Sam was the exception.

Nobody had a bad word to say about Sam. He was right up there, third in line for the chief constable’s throne. And despite being in charge of disciplinary matters, nobody ever bad-mouthed the guy.

Sam never gave anyone the ammunition.

I realised why. Let me take you back to my four-year-old and his answer —

“Probably, Dad.”

It’s honest. It’s guileless. It’s self-aware and sincere. He’s like that now. Holds nothing back. And that is his secret sauce. It’s not sour or salty, it’s sweet.

When you tell the truth, we appreciate your honesty. If you are always honest, you have to be careful. You have to watch what you do because you always come clean.

• “I crashed the car, and it was my fault.”
• “I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”
• “I forgot to check the allergen information on the last batch we sent out and I cost the company £400k.”

That last one actually happened. He didn’t blame someone else, like, “They didn’t train me properly.” He didn’t make excuses like, “I’m so busy, I have too much work on my plate.”

There was no hesitation in owning up. The first time his bosses were aware of an issue was when he told them.

He’s still there.

Last month, the CEO included him in his four-ball at a charity golf match. Despite costing his company a lot of money, he still likes him.

Sam was the same.

There is an element of surprise when people are upfront and honest. I sometimes think, “I wouldn’t admit to that.” And I am wrong to think like that. We are all human. We all have failings and faults.

But when people open up and admit to their foibles, I admire them. I haven’t always had the guts to lay myself open to embarrassment like they have and I like them for it.

Their honesty shows me their open hand — there’s no dagger.

I used to get called into headquarters for high-level meetings and those were the only times I felt I needed my stab-proof vest.

I met an old boss in the changing room at the gym. He’d aged, not in a good way, not like a fine wine, more like a bag of grated cheese.

He was one of those devious bosses who abused his power like it was a game. A master manipulator who tortured others to advance his cause. More than that, he took pleasure in others’ pain.

We exchanged pleasantries. I’d had no issues with him in my time at work, but I knew plenty of others who had. Then he said something strange. Strange for him. “I wish I hadn’t been so severe.”

I said nothing.

In that moment I saw him in a different light. He’d lost his power. In retirement, he had no influence. No game to play. No friends. No colleagues or acquaintances to play them with.

I could see the sadness in his eyes. The regret. The pangs of conscience in his wish. And I felt sorry for him.

I’ve thought about it over the years and I am more convinced than ever that success isn’t measured by the size of your bank account or the power you wield.

Power is as addictive as cocaine and most of us would snort it given half a chance. But to achieve power through amoral actions leaves you paranoid — the feeling that everyone is out to get you might not be just a feeling.

Life is too short to be silver-tongued, false, deceitful.

Try honesty.

Pause before you speak and speak the truth.