Some of the earliest leadership lessons don’t happen in the boardroom. They happen on the playground.
I attended the historic Carver Middle School in Tulsa, Oklahoma, in the heart of Greenwood, the once thriving Black Wall Street. The school still stands today on the corner once known as Greenwood, Archer, and Pine Streets, the intersection that gave the legendary GAP Band its name. Today, that same corner is known as GAP Band Boulevard, honoring the enduring legacy of both the neighborhood and the group it inspired.
Looking back, it’s fitting that one of my earliest leadership lessons happened in a place where history reminds us that progress has always depended on people willing to stand apart before the world caught up.
It was there that my love for basketball began to take shape.
Seeing how much I enjoyed the game, my dad bought me a pair of Pony high top basketball shoes. I was proud of those shoes. I couldn’t wait to wear them to practice.
Then BK Smith noticed them.
“Pony basketball shoes?” he laughed. “Nobody wears Pony basketball shoes. People wear Converse. People wear Nike. Pony makes football cleats. Only dorks wear Pony basketball shoes.”
Every practice brought another joke, another comment, another reminder that, according to BK, I’d made the wrong choice. For three weeks, I endured it.
Then one afternoon BK walked into practice wearing a brand new pair of Pony basketball shoes.
I just stared at him.
Finally, I asked, “BK... I thought only dorks wore Pony basketball shoes.”
Without missing a beat he said, “Yeah... that was before I got a pair.”
I’ve never forgotten that exchange. In fact, I’ve carried it into every boardroom I’ve ever entered because somewhere along the way I realized BK wasn’t teaching me about basketball shoes. He was teaching me about people.
Over the years I’ve coached hundreds of senior executives. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched an idea dismissed in one meeting, only to become brilliant after someone with more influence repeated it.
The brands change. The titles change. The stakes get higher. Human nature doesn’t.
That raises a question. How many good ideas never see the light of day because someone gave another person’s opinion more authority than their own conviction?
If I’d believed BK, I would have been embarrassed by a gift my father was proud to give me. Instead, BK unknowingly gave me one of the earliest leadership lessons of my life.
Conviction must be stronger than commentary.
Authenticity isn’t tested when everyone agrees with you. It’s tested when your perspective isn’t popular, your motives are questioned, and you’re still willing to lead anyway.
If you build your confidence on other people’s opinions, they’ll eventually take it away. Build it on your values, your purpose, and clarity about who you are, and other people’s opinions begin to lose their power.
The older I get, the more I realize leadership often requires continuing to wear your Pony shoes while everyone else is laughing. Don’t be surprised when the people who questioned your convictions eventually adopt them as their own.
So let me leave you with three questions.
What are your Pony shoes? What part of who you are have you been reluctant to show because it wasn’t popular, immediately understood, or broadly accepted?
Where are you choosing acceptance over alignment? Where have you been trying to fit in instead of leading from what you know is true?
If no one else’s opinion could change how you saw yourself, what would you do differently tomorrow?
Great leaders don’t wait for permission.
They wear Pony shoes.
Power is built. Never granted.
#AuthenticLeadership #ExecutiveLeadership #LeadershipLessons #ConvictionOverCommentary #ExecutiveCoaching #MindsetMatters #PowerIsBuiltNeverGranted
