Retirement Age
I recall a job I had back in 1988.
I was a union laborer, working in New Haven, Connecticut. My labor partner, Lonnie, was 60 years old.
He looked older.
He’d spent his days with a shovel in his hands. He had huge, calloused hands, and he tried, many times, to slow down a little.
“You’re working us out of a job,” He’d say. “Pace yourself.”
I distinctly recall one day in January.
The wind was howling, snow was flying, and I was so damn cold that my teeth were chattering.
Lonnie and I were stripping concrete forms following a pour earlier in the week.
“Two damn years,” Lonnie said, leaning on his crowbar. “Then I retire.”
“38 years for me,” I answered.
He laughed.
Lonnie would be about 90 now.
I hope he is still kicking somewhere, enjoying his 29th year of retirement.
There are rumors that the retirement age will now be raised to 70.
Many people will never be able to hang up their work clothes.
A lot of people start doing the math in their 50’s or so.
Thousands of days, giving your all, stack up behind you.
Cut to a few weeks ago.
It was about 6:30 in the morning.
One of the regulars met me at the door to the convenient store. (We’re two of the last people on Earth who buy the newspaper before we start our day).
“Go first,” he said. “I’m retired. You’re still hustling.”
“I hope you’re enjoying your retirement,” I said.
“Eh, not really,” he said. “I had to work so long that my body isn’t worth a shit now. I wanted to golf and fish and hunt, but I can barely move.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“Golden years, my ass,” he said.
Social security raided.
Childcare denied.
Orrin Hatch explained that paying for a sick child of a working class poor couple wasn’t in the best interest of the country. He made a reference to them getting off their asses!
Yep!
Start working at, say, five years of age...
...count down the 70 years until you retire!
I was a union laborer, working in New Haven, Connecticut. My labor partner, Lonnie, was 60 years old.
He looked older.
He’d spent his days with a shovel in his hands. He had huge, calloused hands, and he tried, many times, to slow down a little.
“You’re working us out of a job,” He’d say. “Pace yourself.”
I distinctly recall one day in January.
The wind was howling, snow was flying, and I was so damn cold that my teeth were chattering.
Lonnie and I were stripping concrete forms following a pour earlier in the week.
“Two damn years,” Lonnie said, leaning on his crowbar. “Then I retire.”
“38 years for me,” I answered.
He laughed.
Lonnie would be about 90 now.
I hope he is still kicking somewhere, enjoying his 29th year of retirement.
There are rumors that the retirement age will now be raised to 70.
Many people will never be able to hang up their work clothes.
A lot of people start doing the math in their 50’s or so.
Thousands of days, giving your all, stack up behind you.
Cut to a few weeks ago.
It was about 6:30 in the morning.
One of the regulars met me at the door to the convenient store. (We’re two of the last people on Earth who buy the newspaper before we start our day).
“Go first,” he said. “I’m retired. You’re still hustling.”
“I hope you’re enjoying your retirement,” I said.
“Eh, not really,” he said. “I had to work so long that my body isn’t worth a shit now. I wanted to golf and fish and hunt, but I can barely move.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“Golden years, my ass,” he said.
Social security raided.
Childcare denied.
Orrin Hatch explained that paying for a sick child of a working class poor couple wasn’t in the best interest of the country. He made a reference to them getting off their asses!
Yep!
Start working at, say, five years of age...
...count down the 70 years until you retire!
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