A retirement text?

How do you step away from a career that lasted more than 40 years in one industry? Well, if you are like my Dad you do it slowly, you think it through…and you make the leap when nobody’s looking.

I got a text message from my Dad last week announcing his retirement. Just like that…it was over. And my first reaction wasn’t surprise or amusement that he told me this way. I was just…happy. I was driving to work, I read the text message…and I had a huge grin on my face and thought “he did it…wow…that’s perfect.” I was happy – just incredibly happy.

From my perspective (and rather selfishly I suppose) I wanted him to retire five years ago, but he wasn’t ready. I didn’t think he would ever be ready. But he is. And it must be a wonderful feeling.

My Dad has seen his share of bad times. Running a bank in a small town means knowing your neighbors well and the lines sometimes get blurred when it comes to business. You work with and provide services to people you call friends and family… and you actually, literally, are friends and family. My Dad was a banker his entire career. He was a banker, but he was something more to everyone who ever stepped foot into his office. In one way, shape, or form he was a financial advisor, mentor, counselor, therapist, friend, and decision maker/planner to thousands of people. He never told me any of this, but I can guess. I can guess that he made a huge difference in the lives of people he doesn't even remember.

Can anyone ask for more out of a career? I think most definitely not. But, taking on those roles also meant added stress. For my Dad, those roles meant that if friends and family had problems, then he had problems. If somebody lost a farm, business, or house…well then my Dad seemed to take on those issues like he was right there with them.

Sure, he got to celebrate big achievements when things went well, both for him and for those around him. But he also had lots of losses. The financial hardship many people felt over the last few years took a toll on the economy, took a toll on some of our small towns, and no doubt took a toll on my Dad. But…you wouldn’t know any of that even if you asked him. You would never know how much he took on or how difficult that career was. He closed the door at the bank, drove down the road and when he got home…he was just Dad. A great Dad.

And that’s the biggest accomplishment, at least in my eyes, that he has ever had. He set aside all that “work stuff” and all that baggage and just came home to his family. He could have been a baker instead of banker for all I knew back then because he never seemed to let that stress interfere with our home. He always came to my ball games, always answered the phone, and always waved us right in when we came for a visit. He was just Dad. Dad the banker. We had no idea how hard his job was. We still probably don't really know. We won't ever know. He never showed anything other than his work ethic and a seemingly effortless approach to his career - an approach which I now know was a culmination of experience, confidence, and pride.

You can call him smart, stubborn, and stoic and you would be correct on all accounts. Part of that stoic nature is what made his text message to me even better. It was surprising, out of the blue…and happy. He is getting out because “the time is right” and if you want more detail on the decision you might want to talk to my Mom, because you won’t get anything from my Dad.

The same things that made him great at his job make this decision and the way he announced this decision perfect. The time is right – that is the answer. That's it.

In a perfect world – in my perfect world - my Dad would have announced his retirement a year ago and he could have had a retirement tour, where his friends and family could come to his office, wish him well, and talk about what the future holds. It would have been fun for all of us but him, because nobody is more uncomfortable with that kind of stuff than my Dad. But that wasn't going to happen. A text message and a quick phone call is all he needed to do. It was perfect.

Congratulations Dad – I am proud of you.