Margaret and I were talking about my upcoming retirement from this position with our association. I said, “What do you want me to do when I retire?” She said, “Clean out the garage.”
And then? “The attic,” she said.
My wife has learned to lower her expectations concerning tasks around the house by her spouse of nearly 47 years.
The other day, our oldest son Neil was over. He’s being ordained as a deacon in our church on Sunday night, April 5 — we’re all excited; if ever a man had a servant heart, he does — and he said, “I decided that being ordained deserves a new suit, so I’m going to treat myself.” After suggesting a good men’s store, I said, “I’ll give you some financial help on that suit if you will help me clean out the garage.”
This morning, Friday (Neil works 4 ten-hour days at Northrop-Grumman’s local shipyards, so he has long weekends for himself), he arrived early with his pickup truck. He and I tease about a bumper sticker I once saw on an F-150 like his: “Yes, it’s my truck and no, I will not help you move.” But with family, it’s different.