One of the biggest questions about retirement is what to do with all of your time.
Admittedly, it’s a nice problem to have.
My wife retired a few months before I did. She has several hobbies to occupy her free time, whenever she gets it. She also started a business that allows her to work as much – or as little – as she wants, and she still oversees the household finances and fixes things that are broken.
Me? I play golf. In the Midwest that primarily means April through October, weather permitting, with anything else a bonus. Aside from heading south to find warmth and available tee times, there are plenty of months when the clubs rarely leave the basement.
I continued to work 15 to 20 hours a week for The Herald-Whig the first year of “retirement” in 2018, primarily from home. It was a nice way to stay involved with the newspaper business without all the demands of managing a newsroom.
I taxied grandkids, attended their events, hung out with friends and took a trip. And I played A LOT of golf.
I worked off and on for several months fixing up a rental house to ready it for sale the second year. It was not always enjoyable, considering I’m not exactly the second coming of Bob Vila. But with the help of several family members, we fixed up the place, received an offer the first day it was on the market and closed a month later.
And I still played A LOT of golf.
But in November 2019, with the first snow already on the ground, winter approaching and golfing prospects iffy, I began to explore what I could do next to get out of the house and remain active, aside from working out at the Kroc Center a few days each week.
Why not go back to school?
By that I don’t mean college. While those were four of the greatest years of my life, and it’s fun to relive them in my mind, sitting in classrooms with students 45 years my junior, taking notes and studying for exams held no appeal.
Besides, who was going to invite the balding, gray-haired guy to a party? And how would I be able to stay up late enough if someone did?
No, I decided to go all the way back to first grade. As a paraeducator.
The job checked a lot of boxes. Paraeducators play an important role in the classroom and are in short supply, especially men. If I was going to do something, I reasoned, whatever it was needed to be challenging and rewarding, not just a way to fill a few hours each week.
Importantly, I would be free when my school-age grandkids were not in school so I could still spend time with them. There would ample opportunities to play golf and travel. And I would get two recesses a day.
I have always admired teachers, in part because so many had a positive impact on me as a student, from kindergarten through college. I can still tick off their names.
Seeing up close how much teachers today care about students, and the time and effort they put in daily to overcome obstacles to create a good learning environment, has served to reinforce that admiration.
Admittedly, I initially harbored a combination of anticipation and anxiety. While doing something I had never attempted was intriguing, would I enjoy the job? Would I be any good at it? Patience has not always been my friend.
Being a paraeducator, or teacher aide, in an elementary school is different than covering the World Series and the Masters, or managing a newsroom and attempting to shape public opinion.
It didn’t take long to realize my fears were unwarranted.
While I’m primarily responsible for working with a single student, I also try to help the teacher with the other kids in the classroom whenever possible. I’m there to help in reading, writing, phonics, math and social studies.
We constantly try to reinforce the school’s code of behavior – being respectful, responsible and safe. I soothe hurt feelings and bruised knees. I tie shoes, zip up coats and remind kids not to run in the hallways.
Challenging at times? You bet. Rewarding? Without a doubt.
My first year, pre-pandemic, there was a weekly assembly at my K-5 school where students and classes were recognized for positive behavior and announcements were made.
Everyone stood to recite the Pledge of Allegiance and the principal asked each student to take a moment to think about something or someone they were thankful for.
At one assembly, a few weeks into the job, my student thought for a moment and then looked up to me.
“I’m thankful for you, Mr. Crim,” the then-7-year-old said before giving me a hug.
The coronavirus pandemic brought the school year to an abrupt halt. We were limited to Zoom and FaceTime chats with students, mainly to check in to see how they were doing in an unprecedented time.
In-person learning resumed last August, and my student and I advanced to the second grade. Safety protocols were put in place to protect students and staff to make sure classes could continue.
Among other things, we wear masks while in the building, there are no school-wide weekly assemblies, hand sanitizer is used liberally, classes are not allowed to mingle on the playground, and many breakfasts and lunches are served in classrooms instead of the cafeteria.
But kids are back in school with their friends, learning the difference between nouns, verbs and adjectives, and the importance of starting each sentence with a capital letter and ending it with the proper punctuation mark.
I must admit that every time the teacher admonishes students for chatting with each other while she’s trying to conduct a lesson, I can’t help but think back to what Miss McKee wrote each quarter on my report card when I was in first grade: Donnie is doing well in all subjects, but he continues to talk in class.
I can relate to today’s students after all.
At the end of many days during the dash to pack up for dismissal, my student will come up and say, “Well, Mr. Crim, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Yes you will, buddy. Yes you will. It is time well spent.