(This piece is another one of several essays that did not make my memoir: Leaving The Land of Numb—A Journey To Connect My Emotional And Spiritual Lives. I thought it would fit, but I just couldn’t weave it into the book’s theme. The memoir will be released by Amazon in Mid-July. Watch for Details!)
A few days after my dad turned 64, my mom called me from the bank where she
worked. “Dad got let go this morning,” she said. “He came into the bank a few minutes ago to tell me. His face was ashen. I thought Grandma had died.”
“He got let go from his job?” I asked. “He told me a few weeks ago that he was not even planning to retire at age 65. He said ‘I’m still kicking up a little dust. No reason to quit working.’”
“Could be but he also knew a couple of company VPs were coming through today and he knew changes were in the air. Bottom line, he got the word that he is done.” At the time, Dad was a 45-year employee for a midwestern energy company. He started as a ditch-digger in 1948, but he steadily moved up the ladder and spent the last 20 years as a district manager, wearing a white shirt, tie and sports coat. Every morning he asked mom to check the part in his hair, making sure it was straight.
Word that dad was being moved on early came with full pay for another year and benefits for life. Still, retirement was not in dad’s plan. Somehow he hoped against hope that it would not happen. When it finally came, it felt like he had been fired. I called him later that day and said, “Dad, I heard the news from mom. Still, very tough news for you to receive today. But at least you are getting an entire year of severance pay at your current salary and all your benefits to follow.”
“That’s nothing,” he said. I could tell it really stung him, and it made me feel badly for him. In retrospect dad probably should have seen it coming, given that he knew there were major changes brewing in the company.
After he received the news, he did not sit around long. Within 6 weeks he signed on with another company and worked another 17 years—working full time, he would say with emphasis. “Are you still working D.A?” friends would ask.
“Full time–always 40 hours a week,” he answered. “Why wouldn’t I?” He despised the word retire and was annoyed when he saw someone wearing a hat displaying the word RETIRED.
At that job where he worked an additional 17 years, he retired just 3 weeks before he died–with his boots on, which is apparently the way he wanted it.
On a lovely Phoenix morning in 2021, I remembered that phone conversation with my dad the evening he was let go at age 64. My wife and I were in Phoenix, Arizona, for 6 weeks for me to follow up with pastors I had met during my 2017 sabbatical. Right around the corner from where we stayed was an overpriced boutique grocery store with patio tables and chairs just outside. One morning I walked by the store and heard a 70-something man sitting in one of the chairs, talking loudly. Looking stylish, he wore navy wool slacks, a long-sleeved blue button-down oxford cloth shirt and brown leather-tasseled loafers. His thick white hair was perfectly trimmed above his ears.
The fellow was talking forcefully, gesturing with both hands. I thought he was having an intense phone call, using a hands-free device. But as I got closer, this was no phone conversation. He was speaking a monologue into the blue Phoenix sky, seemingly unaware of people around him listening.
“I am not ready to retire. Let me say that again.” This time he enunciated each word: “I … am … not … ready … to … retire.” Exhaling, he asked: “What part of that do you not understand?”
He fumbled with his gold wrist watch muttering to himself before continuing. “Let me try that one more time. I will retire when I want to retire. I am still at the top of my game. If I were slipping, believe me, I would be the first to know, not you.” Finally, he brought it to a close: “We can visit out here, but I’m not moving out here for the entire winter. Not yet. And please, do not ask me about it again.”
Several others saw the monologue. We almost clapped when he finished! I’m not sure what argument this old boy was having—maybe one with his wife—but he was going at it full bore. It reminded me a little like my dad occasionally going on about his favorite Bible verse: Work harder. When I said, “That verse is not in the Bible, dad,” he responded, “Well, it should be.”
Nowadays, most retirees come from the baby boomer generation—my generation, not my dad’s. The fingers now are pointing at me. Without question, most baby boomers have had an enormous social impact during every life stage, and—like the man arguing with himself outside the grocery store on that beautiful February morning in Phoenix—they expect to continue making an impact throughout their lives, including during their retirement years.
No one wants to lose their identity, purpose and significance when they quit working. I am close friends with one retired fellow who often talks about his past accomplishments. He is a humble guy, but hearing him reminisce I realize that mostly he wants to remember the impact he made. I heard a retirement coach say, “We remain young to the degree that our ambitions are greater than our memories.”
I have thought a lot about the question: “Who am I going to be?” That’s the identity question, and answering it is crucial. That morning in Phoenix I thought about going up to that well-dressed gentleman and seeing if I could engage him with these two questions: “What do really want to do?” and “How do you want to do it?”
A lot of people who reach their retirement years are not ready for the paradigm shift that occurs, often more suddenly than they are ready for—certainly my dad being among them. It is no wonder that so many people who retire from decades of meaningful work with steady rhythms report being lonely and depressed. When I think about this—and I am thinking about it a lot—two overarching themes hit me right between the eyes: time and direction. They both deserve serious attention. I do not want to be the next guy sitting outside a Phoenix grocery store talking into Arizona’s crystal blue sky.
donfollis.com 