You have many decisions to make in life. A major one is when to
retire.
You need to plan for the next stage of your life. But how long will you
live? To find out, just look at . . .
Your Date Stamp
I love my
job, but there comes a point in every man’s life when it is time to call it
quits. I’ve been a science teacher at Gulliver’s Travels High School for forty
years, since 2005. It’s been a good career, for the most part. Many mornings in the past, I marched down the
hall to my classroom to rousing greetings from my students.
“Hey, Mr.
Lowry, good morning. See you fifth period.”
“Morning,
my favorite teacher. I’m going to beat you to class.”
“What are
we going to talk about today, Mr. Lowry. I can’t wait.”
“Science
is my favorite subject because of you, Mr. Lowry.”
That was
the past. Now, at age sixty-four, at the beginning of a new year, my cluttered
mind drifted in and out. Why should I ever leave teaching? However, it’s
a decision we all must face sooner or later. And later seems to be coming
sooner.
“Lowry, I
need to see you in my office,” Principal Navarro exclaimed.
“But,
I’ve got a class to get to.”
“So,
you’ll be late. I’ll message your students to enjoy each other’s company until
you get there.”
I entered
Principal Navarro’s office. “What’s this all about?”
“Some of
your students have come to see me. They feel your teaching methods are grounded
in the past—outdated. It’s 2045. You’ve got to embrace the newest technology.
Use it in your classroom.”
“I hear
what you’re saying, but I don’t agree.”
“You
don’t agree? We received a $5,000,000 grant two years ago to upgrade our
classroom technology, and we did, with the expectation that all teachers would
use it.”
“But I
like interaction in my classroom. Students need to work with each other and not
be married to their devices.”
“We left
that world behind us many years ago. Technology rules. And the student
complaints about your methodology are right on. And the number is growing.
Maybe you should consider retirement.”
“Maybe I
should.”
I left
the principal’s office, walked down the hall, and entered my classroom. To my
dismay, nobody was there. However, on the large screen in front of the room,
words jumped out at me. “We don’t need to be here today and maybe never. ‘AI’
rules.”
Brought
up in a religious home, I thought God ruled, not ‘AI.’ Maybe the end of this
year was the right time to retire. I would have a new life ahead of me for
however long God intended me to live.
It would
be great, if I could predict my future and know when my final year of life
would be. Then I could make plans and have the opportunity to fulfill them. But
I knew this was a dream and not a possibility.
At home
that evening, I sat on the couch and thought about retiring. The answer was,
“Yes!” But what would I do with my free time?
My wife
died three years ago and we didn’t have any children. So I was alone and in
full control, or so I thought.
However,
in today’s world, all houses are equipped with ‘AI’ to keep you up-to-date on
everything that’s happening locally and worldwide. It also answers any
questions you might have, whether or not you verbalize them. It infiltrates
both body and mind, but, hopefully, not soul.
My
stomach started to rumble, so I thought, What do I want for dinner?
Your
refrigerator is empty. The pasta and chicken dish on Verzano Italiano’s menu is
to die for, ‘AI’ chanted.
I didn’t
want to die, but the dish sounded good. So I said, “Order that for me.”
It has
been done and will be delivered in twenty-five minutes. The cost is $34.87.
The end
of the school year came all too soon. On graduation day, June 16, 2045, I sat in
the audience and watched the students approach the stage to receive their
diplomas. A wonderful future was ahead of them, and it made me feel good.
However, I quivered a bit, as I speculated about what the next stage of my life
would be like. And then . . .
Principal
Navarro sung out, “I’d like to invite Mr. Max Lowry to come up and receive the
2045 Gulliver’s Travels High School Career Teaching Award.”
I was
speechless. I made my way to the stage to accept the honor, with a broad smile
on my face.
“Congratulations,
Mr. Lowry, and thank you for all you have given our school and students during
your forty years of exemplary service. We want to wish you a happy and healthy
retirement,” Principal Navarro said, with enthusiasm.
He handed
me a framed certificate. I took it, shook his hand and muttered, “Thank you.” I
was overwhelmed by this unexpected recognition.
I headed
home, got ready for bed and a sound night’s sleep. I awoke the next morning and
welcomed a new day and the beginning of the next stage of my life. I wondered, What
am I going to do during the next twenty or more years?
But you
do not have twenty years to live, ‘AI’ stated.
“Huh. How
do you know that?”
Because
it was decided at birth.
“That can’t be.”
Every
human being has an expiration date.
“A what?”
A date
on which you will be taken to a better place.
“You
can’t be serious.”
Check
your date stamp.
“My what?”
Your
date stamp.
“Where is it?
On the
side of your big toe on your right foot.
I took off my sock and
looked. “I don’t see anything,” I stuttered.
Use
your magnifying glass, ‘AI’ instructed.
I reached
over and took it out of my nightstand drawer. I forced it between my toes and
gasped, “6-17-2046—one year from today.”
My heart
beat so quickly, I thought I was having a heart attack. I screamed, “I’m
dying!”
You
will be, but not today.
Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.
