I came from a very traditional(ish) family. My dad was the breadwinner—at least for the majority of my adolescent years. My mother cooked the meals and worked, and my father was traveling the world, selling View Master and lumber in Europe, while holding a cooler than cool position as a diplomat. Think of the time of two (perhaps 19) martini lunches.
It was that time and it was awesome.
Meanwhile, my mother was my rock and the one that held down the fort while my father was traipsing around the world, racking up a pension (remember those? Probably not), and workin’ it like a boss. She held creative gigs mostly, was an amazing artist, and typically worked in cool and artsy retail (while maintaining her own retirement plan). She had a crazy work ethic and like a lot of women, was made of steel, only covered in a lovely soft shell of MOM.
Here’s the amazing thing that occurred with times changing and women taking a totally new stance, societally. My father decided that the grind of his daily life—all that professional crap that he was steeped in—it just wasn’t his jam. He was truly a creative and a misfit in his position. He was a rabble-rouser (the peach doesn’t fall far from the peach truck, as it turns out) and he decided to jump.
Dad was somewhat of an outspoken juggernaut. He was an artist at his core, just like my mom. And this is where I am going to throw out some supreme, extreme pride: dad decided to leap out of the grind and into his passion for the sake of happiness. He had been painting, but he took that painting to a whole new level by making it into a full time J-O-B so that Happy Father’s Day could be EVERY DAY. But what does that mean for retirement? A whole heck of a lot.
What happens next? Stay tuned to hear the REST of the story. And for all those dad’s out there:
I HOPE YOU HAD A HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!
Sylvia, aka Debt Girl