My father was 54 in the year 2000.
He had already been retired from the Canadian Armed Forces for seven years at this point after serving in the military for 30 years.
Not too shabby for a guy who joined the Royal Canadian Navy in 1963 with a grade 8 education and a drinking habit that would make a longshoreman blush.
Me?
Because the baby boomers insisted on hauling up the ladder after they had their climb, I will have to work for at least 12 more years if I want to even think of retiring.
Hopefully I can avail myself to M.A.i.D. in 2027 so that I no longer have to live with the daemons that my father gave to me.
My mother would have also been 54 in the year 2000.
I have absolutely no idea what the fuck she was up to. The last time I had spoken with her at that point in my life was in the spring of 1992, when after moving to Vancouver she told me to “never fucking call her again”. I honoured this command until 2013 when I had to call her to discuss with her some of the answers that my father had given to me for federal court. When I met her in 2013 she was a fucking dead zombie. She already had a bunch of aneurysms. And she was nothing more than the walking dead waiting for her death.
I don’t know if she ever retired from a job that had a pension.
Beeshive 