Retirement?!*>#!!&^+~#-??...

This last week I braved my first foray into the realm of a possible future—RETIREMENT—by attending my first ever retirement briefing. YIKES! However, I fear now I may require succor for my state of mind—total alienation!

Back story . . . During last November’s faculty meeting the principal announced the official sign-up sheet--the one for the once a year retirement briefing offered by the district--would make its way around. Perfunctorily, with scarcely a glance at the date of the briefing or names on the list, I contributed to the passage of the clipboard by handing it to the teacher beside me. The clipboard circled through the faculty and rested once again near administration by the time I reconsidered a confrontation with reality: In two more years I will have taught overseas for 25 years, for 30 years in just seven more; maybe there are some things I need to know. At the end of the meeting, I wended my way to the clipboard and added my name.

The actual briefing for all the schools in our complex, though, was scheduled for 3:30, March 3, in the middle school library. I entered the library at 3:28 and experienced my first shock: most of the seats were already occupied and serious discussion appeared to be underway. Was I late?! Had the briefing really begun at 3:00?! I have never known so many teachers to be so prompt—even early—for a meeting, but only one more teacher entered after me. I slunk into a remaining chair at a table where a teacher I kind of sort of knew from the elementary school was sitting. Once seated, I realized the other teachers had folders of information, so, as the presenter launched into the official Power Point presentation (I was not officially late), I slid back out of my seat to retrieve a folder from the library's check-out counter.

An inauspicious beginning deteriorated further. The presentation limped along as the same five people asked question after question and proposed endless “what if” scenarios. The guy on the other side of me commenced what I’m sure he assumed was witty repartee constructed from dramatically whispered asides spawned by the presentation in progress. As I attempted to remain conscious of the presenter’s main points during his painfully slow trudge through the material (not fully his fault, though), I also learned far more than I ever intended to know about the guy next to me: He just turned sixty, he is very available, he has exceedingly good health, his ex-wife has remarried so will have no claims on any of his retirement benefits, etc., etc. Although I truly aspired to at least be polite—an occasional monosyllabic response and some weak smiles—all I could think was “I don’t think I’m old enough to go out with you!”

Forty-five minutes into the briefing and I was pretty much finished. At 5:00, one and a half hours of briefing later, I gathered my stuff and followed another man—a teacher from the elementary school who has a daughter on the other 8th grade team—out the door. According to the handout in my packet containing copies of the Power Point slides, about ¾ of the presentation was complete…to be followed by a question and answer session. But I was done!

I skipped dinner in favor of two sugar cookies and a large Diet Coke from the snack bar at the Fleet Recreation Center. I currently have Season 5 of Lost in my possession and fully intend to suspend my reality for a space of time. So, until I resurface . . .