Work is a mysterious thing.
Many of us claim to dislike it at times, but it grips on us so fiercely, that it captures emotions and loyalties we never knew were there.
It was a retirement party for a man who had spent forty years with the same company. His colleagues at work were in attendance — they prepared speeches, made toasts and offered gifts. It was just like hundreds of retirement parties being held around the country that night.
The dinner was usual — some guests came a little early, others a little late.
The women pressed their cheeks, kissing the wind for reasons connected to lipstick.
The men backslapped and then settled, with short or long lapses of disconnection. Then, they would mill around the retiree and go back to their seats — but like a moth drawn to a flame, each one would go back to the man, repeat a tale and offer him whatever.
More than just breaking bread with him that evening, it seemed these was something all, each had to say.
Looking faintly bewildered, the guest of honor, gazed at his colleagues’ faces and read their minds. Whatever it was he was looking for, he found in their demeanor and in their every burst of laughter.
It was an ambivalent emotion.
A man’s work (if he is good at it) is said to be as important to him as his family. Such a delicate balance: the attention that one must pay to his job and to his family — with no luxury of overlap.
His job is quite separate from his family — that is why, for them, the men and women he worked with in that same company for forty years were just names.
Now, he is sixty five and the rules say that he must retire.
The speeches began, filled with references and inside jokes, which made the man laugh and nod his head in recognition, as every speaker took turns, making the people in the room roar with glee.
The speeches were specific, not general. It was mostly about little matters that have happened over the years, and each remembrance was like a small gift to the retiree, who was sitting and listening.
As a quiet observer, I thought about how the man was going to feel the next morning — knowing that for the first time in his adult life, he wouldn’t be driving to the building where the rest of people in this small gathering would be reporting for work.
The separation pains are probably just as strong to the loss of a family member. Yet, in the world of the universal work force, a man is supposed to accept (even embrace) retirement.
None of us can really change the world in a lifetime — but we touch the people around us, in ways that may last. That is the real purpose of a retirement party like this one: to tell a man that those memories will remain, even though the work rules say that he has to go away.
The plaque and office gift were presented, and with forty years of work coming to an end, he went back to his own home.
And the rest of us went back to ours.
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