It surprises me when people sympathetically await an answer to their question, "So, how's retirement?", as though there could be any answer other than, "Great!" It is as though they are asking a person who's had a near-death experience what the other side was like: Did you see the light? Could you tell if you were on your way to heaven or hell? Did you see Jesus? Questions that reveal more about the questioner than any answer from the questioned could provide.
I retired almost six months ago, and it is just the life I began to dream about in my mid-forties. It was then I realized the mental picture I held of myself had aged from twenty to thirty, and I had to admit that even I would someday get old. Once that hurdle had been crossed, it was easy to begin imagining what the ideal life in retirement would be like. My plans included every activity I seldom had time for during my working years: traveling, gardening, reading, volunteering in the community, and hundreds of ideas more that came and went over the years. Now my life, and my health, affords me the time to do so many of the things I dreamed of doing--what's not to love!
This weekend, I volunteered to help at one of the big events in our community--the annual library book sale. I was assigned to help at a check-out station on Friday night. Friday is the night when Friends of the Library get to shop before the hordes of "general public" arrive on Saturday and Sunday. Hundreds of people gladly pay the five dollar membership fee to join the Friends just so they can have the opportunity to get first crack at the thousands of books whose prices range generally from twenty-five cents to one dollar.
The night is usually pretty hectic. It is not unusual to have people arriving at the check-out table with five, seven, or even ten boxes filled with books. Being a people-watcher, I enjoy playing a mental game of trying to figure out which people I should try to get to know better based on their book selections. I always have something to say to people who are checking out cookbooks and art books. I try not to say anything to people who are checking out books by or about political pundits, politicians, or the lunacy in politics--a practice of self-control that would impress St. Benedict. I can spot a teacher who is filling boxes with books for her classroom: her boxes are filled with thousands of picture books. (I am only slightly prone to exaggeration.) The home-schooling couples wipe out the religion and bible study shelves. Chefs buy the classiques de cuisine, and book resellers clear out the literary classics. Overall, it is a fabulously entertaining night for all of us.
About mid-way through Friday evening, I spotted a mother and college-aged daughter waiting to be checked out at one of the busier stations. I called them over and began unloading their boxes, glancing at the mother and trying to place where she and I had crossed paths. I knew her, but could not come up with either a name or a place. Finally I asked where I might have met her before, introducing myself at the same time. It was then that her daughter exclaimed, "Ms. Opal, I knew it was you!" I looked over at her with a quizzical look. "I'm Lauren B. You taught me in first grade!"
This lovely young woman was the precocious young reader I had in my classroom fourteen years ago. I remembered the first-grader as though it were yesterday. Today she is a biology major, continuing to study hard and, from the selection of books I checked out for her, continuing to read hard.
It was at the end of our brief visit that Lauren said, "Ms. Opal, I have thought of you so many times over the years. I remember all of the books you read to us. It was just wonderful." With those words, Lauren made all of the demands of the teaching profession worth the work. Teachers know before entering their profession that they will never be rich monetarily, but sometimes the reward of a job well-done comes to you in the words of a student. Sometimes, it's enough to retire on.
