Working for a Living

My son is being recruited for a high profile, very productive position that will keep him rich and busy for several years – if he gets past interview #3. He’s worked very hard to build his career portfolio. His current employment is not fast tracking him, so, like momma like son, he’s moving on. He’s very conscientious about the details of his working responsibilities (like daily changing his voicemail greeting to assure customers of his constant attention to their financial welfare). Mortgage algorithms, amortization schedules, financial planning discussions: all routine chitchat. Just thinking about all that makes me tired. I’m simply worked out. For several years I’ve been worth far more than what I earned; for the next few years, I’ll be worth very little of what I’m earning. As far as I’m concerned, I’m a Hired Retired. Many years had gone into the workplace struggle for decent pay, merit raises, and promotions. Too many years have gone into easing the workload of my bosses who grabbed the better salaries, bonuses, and even higher privileged positions. The only work I’m willing to do now is mine. Yes, I’ll give the job its dollar’s worth – but not a cent more. The rest is for me. All my concentrated preparations go toward making my retirement a comfortable one. I have a life! I write, I sew, I dine, I travel, I entertain, I throw clay, fashion jewelry, make friends, make enemies, and any damn thing else I want. Frankly, the job is getting in my way. I’ve done my part. I’m happy my son will do his. It’s supposed to be a new day now. Different from when I was fighting my way through corporate America – somewhat. My son has a better chance of succeeding. He has one less strike against him than the four I have. He’s male. I’m an (1) over forty (2) native-born (3) African-American (4) female. Good luck. (And you’re in big trouble if you throw up the likes of Condoleeza Rice in my face.)