Cat’s in the Cradle

MY WIFE WAS STILL waking up from the general anesthesia. She’d had a Cesarean, or C-section. Meanwhile, I was in the nursery, helping the nurse record my newborn son’s vitals.

The Harry Chapin song Cat’s in the Cradle came over the loudspeaker. For readers unfamiliar with the song, it tells the story of a dad who is more interested in his job than his son. Having kids was never my priority. Making money was, so I took this as a sign from above. I looked up and said, “I got it.”

Now, I wish I could tell you that, from that moment on, I was Super Dad. I wasn’t horrible, but I also wasn’t a model father. Money was still what was most important to me, much to my wife’s chagrin.

According to the Social Security Administration, our son is a DAC, or disabled adult child. To be classified as a DAC, you must have a permanent disability which impedes your ability to function, and the disability must have occurred prior to age 22.

A DAC is entitled to a parent’s earnings record for purposes of Social Security. The sum a DAC receives can, however, be reduced if others are receiving benefits based on the earner’s lifetime income, notably the earner’s spouse.

Knowing this limitation, I calculated at what age my wife’s own earnings record would result in a higher benefit than her spousal benefit, which would be equal to 50% of my benefit as of my full retirement age. Using that information, we waited until that age for her to begin collecting Social Security, leaving my son as the only family member claiming benefits based on my earnings record.

It used to be that IRA beneficiaries—including the original account owner’s children—could draw down an inherited IRA over their lifetime. This provision was changed, so accounts must typically be emptied within 10 years. But there are some exceptions, including one for DACs. That’s one more benefit that my son’s entitled to, at least for now.

Volunteering is often touted as a wonderful way for retirees to spend their time, helping them to avoid social isolation and giving them a sense of purpose. I don’t buy it. I look at volunteering as working for free. You still need to work for the man—or woman—doing what you’re told, but now you aren’t getting paid for it. The heck with that. Still, I’ve come up with an activity that provides the same benefits, but on my terms.

My son is obsessive-compulsive when it comes to trash. If he sees it, he picks it up. No matter how dirty it is. No matter where it is. This would drive his mother crazy. Every time he’d reach down to pick up trash, she would yell at him.

To channel my son’s compulsion into something less likely to trigger family arguments, I decided to take him out on daily walks to pick up neighborhood trash. He wears gloves and a day-glo vest, uses a grabber, and carries two or more plastic shopping bags to collect and separate recycling from trash. We bring these bags back to the house and empty them into our trash cans for curbside pickup.

In the beginning, our neighbors didn’t know what to make of this intrusion on their privacy. My son would see paper or aluminum cans wind-blown on their lawns, walk over, pick it up and walk away. In the beginning, I guess they thought he was casing their property, looking for something of value to steal. But they soon realized all he was doing was helping keep their property clean.

Now, when they see us, they might thank us, give us a wave or toot their horn. They don’t know us. They just appreciate what we do. My son pretends he doesn’t hear these compliments, but he does and a big smile comes across his face.

My job is to make sure he does a good job. As we walk the neighborhood, my son will replay a mental tape of a TV show or YouTube video that he’s seen. Because he’s focusing on the mental movie he’s watching, and telling me what he’s seeing, he doesn’t always see all the trash. That’s my job. I shout his name and point to the trash. He then stops talking and picks it up.

In my studies of retirement lifestyle, I often see it mentioned that, during their go-go years, retirees spend money on golf, travel and entertainment, which potentially creates financial problem down the line. Many risk running out of money, especially if their portfolio gets hit with a bad sequence of returns early in retirement. Volunteering can slow down this spending spree, giving retirees something to do that doesn’t cost much.

To that end, this trash collecting with my son has a number of positives:
I spend quality time with my son. It doesn’t cost anything, other than purchasing a new grabber whenever one breaks. We’re doing something good for the town. We walk, so we’re getting exercise and reducing our carbon footprint. It makes my son feel good when he hears the shout-outs. We’re deciding when and where we should gather the trash, so it gives my son a sense of autonomy.

Although I was never a Cat’s in the Cradle father during my working years, retirement has allowed me to be with my son far more. I don’t know how many more years I have, but I’m grateful that I’ve been given this gift of time with my son.

I busted my butt to get a college education. Do you think I’m proud of picking up other people’s trash? And yet there’s nothing I’d rather do. What I have is worth more than all the money in the world: time with my son.

David Gartland was born and raised on Long Island, New York, and has lived in central New Jersey since 1987. He earned a bachelor’s degree in math from the State University of New York at Cortland and holds various professional insurance designations. Dave’s property and casualty insurance career with different companies lasted 42 years. He’s been married 36 years, and has a son with special needs. Dave has identified three areas of interest that he focuses on to enjoy retirement: exploring, learning and accomplishing. Pursuing any one of these leads to contentment. Check out Dave's earlier articles.

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