Getting a child into the water

At a pool in Ajman on a summer evening, two fathers are trying to get two frightened children into the water.

The first has a plan built on force. Armbands, a firm grip, a countdown, and when the countdown runs out, in she goes. Sometimes it works. Often it ends with a screaming child, a soaked father and a pool that will now be refused for a month. It takes a lot of equipment, it carries real risk, and he will have to do all of it again next time.

The second sits on the edge with his feet in. He splashes a little. He talks about something else. He lets his son touch the water with one hand, then two, and waits. It takes longer. To the father beside him, he looks like he is doing nothing at all.

By the end of the week, the boy jumps in on his own.

Most of what we call persuasion is the first kind. Push the customer, pressure the colleague, corner the relative, and pile up the tools that make pushing possible: deadlines, warnings, offers that vanish at midnight. It is the common way because it feels like action, and because it needs no understanding of the person in front of us.

The second way asks for something harder. It asks us to see what the other person is afraid of, and to have the patience to let them come to the water on their own terms.

That is not a gift some people are born with. It is a skill, and it can be learned. It just looks slower from the side of the pool.