A Man of Principle

It boggles my mind to hear people admit that they don’t know what they are going to do with themselves when they retire. The bottle of my retirement glass is three quarters full. I do not want to stay indentured longer than I have to. If there exists a deal to opt out for an early retirement package a decade from now, I will be all ears. Don’t get me wrong. My vocation as a social worker is important but I want to retire while relatively healthy. I dream of a golden parachute buffering my landing for a new chapter of life. I don't invision retirement as a stare in the mirrow until I can figure out a clever way to re-invent myself. Instead, retirement for me means playing tennis, going to the gym, devoting block time to writing, more social time with friends, uninterrupted sleep, expanded hobbies, and vacation getaways.

Allow me to digress. Before I had hair on my chest, I used to work in an elementary school as a night custodian. A lesson in life, the least important person on a job carries all the keys. The school principle was an older man who carried with him in some circles the nickname of Hoyt. Hoyt ran the show and he could be considered Old School in his managerial style. It came as a surprise to everyone the day that Hoyt announced his retirement because he often bragged that he would never retire. Slinging mops and hauling trash for just enough to get by, well I didn’t really understand that mentality coming from a seasoned principle who logged enough years in the pension system to retire.

Nevertheless, retirement was a dirty word to Hoyt. A man of principle, the school was his life. While his retirement was not based on reduced competency, Hoyt still viewed retirement as surrender and banishment by a society rendering him useless. The faculty learned that Hoyt’s wife felt like her husband was now stealing quality time from her. Hoyt described bowing down to his wife to join her at home for what he negatively perceived to be mindless chitchatting over tea and crimpets.

As his last day on the job approached, Hoyt went kicking and screaming. To celebrate his career and retirement, the Sunshine Club purchased a young cherry tree in Hoyt’s honor to be planted on school grounds. The custodians planted the sapling in the school’s courtyard for all to admire. The eager roots barely had been afforded the time to spread out in their burlap sack before the tree was stolen. That was sad enough but Hoyt didn’t fare much better than his stolen tree. Hoyt died weeks into his muddled retirement.

For the life of him, Hoyt told us he didn’t know what he would do with his retirement. Hoyt knew this about himself and stated as much in so many words. I, for one, should have believed him. On less than hallowed ground, there grows a stolen cherry tree once planted in Hoyt’s honor. I often think of Hoyt in the same tragic sense as the uprooting of that dedicated tree. I suppose it is because I know now what I didn’t then. Some people aren’t meant to retire and need to work to feel alive. I just may not be one of them.