We all leave the classroom eventually. The question is when? How do we know when it's time? For some it is simply the 85-factor (age plus years of teaching). Or maybe a retiring spouse. Perhaps a change in curriculum which demands a reinvention of classroom materials or a mandated assessment practice that provides a push. Conflicts with colleagues or administration. Health issues. Maybe when you have been in automatic mode for a while and find the whole thing is getting tedious.
I was looking for a sign. I never really got one. My 85-factor came and went as did my 60th birthday. I was still in good health. I had only had a handful of sick days in 10 years. I loved the work and my colleagues. My career felt like it was still on an upward trajectory. I was excited by the changes I saw in mathematics education and was ready for new challenges. When I tried to explore the idea of retirement with my spouse, she would just look at me blankly. Later she explained her lack of support by telling me that the concept was totally foreign to her. Her parents were approaching 90 and still working. So retirement was a decision that I made on my own. It was not easy. It was probably the toughest decision that I ever made. I decided on a Saturday and broke out in shingles on Sunday. But many of my younger contemporaries had already retired. I was a grandfather. So I suppose it came down to how finite this life is. There is a big world out there and maybe there was another role for me to play, another adventure to explore and the only way I would know was to quit teaching.
My spouse once heard that it is important to retire not from something but to something. I didn’t really have anything to retire to. I had been so focused on teaching that my life outside of the classroom was limited. The only way that I could begin to visualize other life possibilities was to walk away, cold turkey. I quit. No supply teaching. No Twitter. No socializing with teachers. The first summer was like any other. A cycling trip in September was a distraction. October and November were tougher. I was embarrassed to be seen on the street. I had no job. I had lost my identity. An exchange at a dinner party reemphasized why I had set myself adrift. I was relaying the statistic that teachers in Ontario work an average of 25 years and collect pension for 30. Our guest contrasted that with the civil service where the average pension life is measured in months! Life is short.
I had made a vow to myself to stay completely away from teaching for one year. And I did. One year became two. I cycled in Quebec, California and Spain. I skied in BC and Austria. Did trail runs in Virginia, Washington State and Mexico, reconnecting with friends on my travels. I worked on rebuilding our cottage which was destroyed in a forest fire. We welcomed our second grandchild, born the day after we got back from a trip to Europe.
Despite my best efforts I still wasn’t able to turn my mind off teaching. I continued to be drawn to news stories about education. It is where my mind drifted to on 20K runs. I had to admit that even in retirement, I am still a teacher. It didn’t take much to get me to apply for my Master’s. A colleague mentioned it and my spouse thought that it was an excellent idea if I did it. After all, it was something that I planned to do even as I was completing my B. Ed. so many years ago. When Chris Suurtamm agreed to be my academic supervisor, it tipped the scales. The chance to work with her was too good to miss.
I enjoyed the graduate coursework and discussing education again. The work hasn’t been terribly onerous. I was able to squeeze in a trip to Baja, Mexico between classes and collaborate on a paper while poolside in Palm Springs. I just received the okay from the Ethics to go ahead with my thesis proposal. As a former department head, a workshop leader and a frequent participant in lesson studies, I once got paid to talk with teachers about their practice. Now I am paying for it.
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