Saturday 3 April 2010

Retirement

I went to my father's retirement dinner tonight. It was a good night, full of joy and laughter. I felt both proud and humbled at watching the man who brought me up gain his just rewards from his workmates. For 34 years he worked at the same company. I've never seen him cry before, and I didn't see him do so tonight, but he came as close as I can ever remember. It was a truly odd feeling, to have complete strangers come up to you and tell you how your dad is 'the nicest guy in the world', how 'he'll be sorely missed'. I tried to look at him, for perhaps the first time, as a person - not as my father, but as how somebody on the street would look at him. A regular guy, gaunt in the face, grey hair, slim and fragile. The way the people there ran over his past work at the company - 34 years of service, summed up in a 30 minute speech - somehow saddened me. To think of all the moments that had occurred in that 34 years! Every thought he must have had, every day he went into work, every palpitating second. I think he enjoyed his work, but who is really ever to know? Did he ever stare blankly at his computer screen and dream of something better? Did he ever silently curse his wife and children for forcing him into a life that he would not have chosen for himself? Did he ever yearn for something better? Of course he would never say such things, but the thought lingers on. I know that things were different in his day, that you found a job and stuck with it no matter what, and so in a way he never knew any better, but what of him now? He'll have, at best, 25 years left. 25 years to fulfill all the dreams he never even came close to touching. Some of them must be gone forever. Who knows what he wanted when he was my age? At some point he must have been young, red of flesh and tan of cheek, and it upsets me to think of all the avenues that are now closed to him, forever. Is this what life is about? Is this the ultimate extent that our gentle dreams must reach? Perhaps it is not the end of the world. He's lived a good life, and perhaps, in some small wearied way, that is enough.

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