‘Watch’ Words

The retirement industry spends enormous time modeling outcomes, but most of what really prepares us for retirement isn’t found in a Monte Carlo simulation. It’s learned from watching people around us live their lives. Often our fathers.

My parents led mostly through example — and powerful as that can be, as a kid those messages are often too subtle to be noticed, much less appreciated.

At 6’ 5” he was an imposing figure, all the more from the pulpit from which he did speak. He was a good speaker, but not a natural one. As a minister, he worked hard at it, studied his subject matter, and practiced his presentation relentlessly, each and every week. I always thought it amazing that such a quiet, introverted man would choose that career — but, and though it can’t have been easy, it was something he felt called to do at an early age.

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He had opinions, but didn’t impose them on others. It was difficult (and sometimes frustrating) to wrest opinions from him. Indeed, despite his ministry, at home my dad was a man of few words — spoken words, anyway.

Significantly, he walked his “talk” — his faith, his love and respect for all people, even those with whom he disagreed — and those were attributes in short supply, even then. But this quiet “giant” found his true gift in writing — and in the process extended his influence and ministry well beyond a single congregation.

For all that fine example, I didn’t learn anything about finance from my dad — he avoided big purchases with the fervor of Ebenezer Scrooge, though he’d spend that much (and more) on small things (mostly books, much to my mother’s chagrin). His retirement decision was driven almost exclusively by age — honestly, I think he was going to stop working at 65 even if the finances didn’t support that timing (fortunately, they did).

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His life example(s) notwithstanding, I’m a different person than my dad, though his example is never very far from my thoughts. As a parent, I’ve tried to share with my kids the lessons I’ve learned (and continue to learn), tried to spare them the pain that came with many of those (some I still can’t bear to admit aloud), but I’ve also tried to give them the room they need — and deserve — to learn their own on the life path(s) they chose — though that’s a life lesson of its own, and one with which I still sometimes struggle.

Sometimes we follow in our parents’ footsteps — and sometimes we go a different way. But here’s hoping that the footprints we leave along the way — intentional or otherwise — make other’s lives…better.

Happy Father’s Day!

• Nevin E. Adams, JD

Father's Time

 As Father’s Day approaches, I’ve been thinking about my dad, the life he led, the choices he made, and his legacy.

Mind you, I’m not talking about money. In fact, I didn’t learn anything about finance from my dad.  Not that our family’s income provided a lot of “room,”—but Dad avoided big purchases with the fervor of Ebenezer Scrooge. However, he’d spend that much (and more) on small things (mostly books, which remain in jaw-dropping abundance in my mother’s home 18 years after his passing!).

My dad was a man of few words—spoken words, anyway. At 6’ 5”, he was an imposing figure, all the more so behind the pulpit from which he’d speak three times each week. He was a good speaker, though not a natural one.

He worked hard at it, studied his subject matter (hence the books), and practiced his presentation relentlessly each and every week. I always thought it odd that such a quiet, introverted man would choose that career, but it was something he felt called to do at an early age, though it couldn’t have been easy.

He had opinions but didn’t seek to impose them on others. Indeed, wresting opinions from him was difficult (and sometimes frustrating). Significantly, he walked his “talk”—his faith, his love and respect for all people, even those with whom he disagreed—and those were attributes in short supply, even then. He was always a voice of reason and tolerance.

Though I talked about my work several times over the years, for much of my working life, I don’t think my dad ever really understood what I “did.” Oh, he knew I worked for banks (when I did), figured that being a “senior vice president” had to be a good thing, knew that it had something to do with pensions (though he didn’t have one), and (eventually) grasped that it also had something to do with something called a 401(k).

But as for understanding what I actually did every day, well, he mainly cared that I enjoyed the work, that I found meaning in my chosen field, and that I was able—or felt I was able—to make a difference.

While Dad touched many people with his ministry, he touched thousands more with a random, almost accidental opportunity. Back in 1972, he was asked by a friend to write 13 guest columns in a denominational newspaper—an “opportunity” that went on for more than three decades (alongside his “day job”).

In fact, one of the great joys of my life came when 20 years into my retirement industry career, I was also presented with an “opportunity” to begin writing for a living—and my dad, though he surely didn’t always understand what I was writing about, could appreciate that I was eventually following in his (writing) footsteps. 

His impact on me and my life notwithstanding, I’m a different person than my dad, though his example is never very far from my thoughts. As a former child, I’ve tried to avoid repeating the “mistakes” my parents made—some of which, admittedly, in the fullness of time, weren’t mistakes at all.

As a parent, I’ve tried to share with my kids the lessons I’ve learned (and continue to learn), tried to spare them the pain that came with some of those, but also tried to give them the room they need—and deserve—to learn their own on the life path(s) they chose—though doing so is a life lesson of its own, and one with which I still struggle (just ask my kids).

I’ve tried to share with them some sense of money and its management, the thrill of having work that gives you joy (even if the where and who you do it with don’t always), the importance of having the right life partner…

Along the way, I’ve tried to make a point of telling them regularly how proud I am of them. But mostly, I try to tell them and show them how much I love them and do so as often as possible.

In this business, we tend to focus on things like bequests and legacies, the financial “leftovers” that are passed on to those we love. But those pale in importance and longevity to the legacy we can—and should—leave behind in the experiences and examples we pass on to our kids.

Love you, Dad.

- Nevin E. Adams, JD 

A Father's Footsteps

“A father is a man who expects his children to be as good as he meant to be.” – Carol Coats

Like many, perhaps most, of you, as a parent I’ve tried to compensate for the ways in which I felt that my parents could have done . . . “better.” 

My parents led mostly through example—and powerful as that can be, as a kid those messages are often too subtle to be noticed, much less appreciated. Indeed, my dad was a man of few words—spoken words, anyway.

At 6’ 5” he was an imposing figure, all the more from the pulpit from which he did speak. He was a good speaker, but not a natural one. A minister, he worked hard at it, studied his subject matter, practiced his presentation relentlessly, each and every week. I always thought it amazing that such a quiet, introverted man would choose that career—but, and though it can’t have been easy, it was something he felt called to do at an early age. He had opinions, but didn’t impose them on others. Indeed, it was difficult (and sometimes frustrating) to wrest opinions from him. Significantly, he walked his “talk”—his faith, his love and respect for all people, even those with whom he disagreed—and those were attributes in short supply, even then. But this quiet “giant” found his true gift in writing—and in the process extended his influence and his ministry well beyond a single congregation. And yes, gentle reader no one was more thrilled than Dad to see THIS son “stumble” into writing for a career, albeit with a different focus.   

For all that fine example, I didn’t learn anything about finance from my dad—he avoided big purchases with the fervor of Ebenezer Scrooge, though he’d spend that much (and more) on small things (mostly books, much to my mother’s chagrin). Like many in his generation, my dad wanted to “hold” the checkbook, but it was Mom who always made sure that there was money in the account. And while Dad tithed “biblically,” Mom was the one who started setting aside money from her paycheck in her 403(b) plan at work—and continued to do so, even when my father was convinced they couldn’t afford it—and made no secret of THAT opinion. Or did until he got a glimpse of the statement that showed Mom’s retirement account growth—and then, inspired by that example—he began setting money aside for retirement as well.

His impact on me, and my life notwithstanding, I’m a different person than my dad, though his example is never very far from my thoughts. As a parent, I’ve tried to share with my kids the lessons I’ve learned (and continue to learn), tried to spare them the pain that came with many of those (though some I still can’t bear to admit aloud), but also tried to give them the room they need—and deserve—to learn their own on the life path(s) they chose—though that’s a life lesson of its own, and one with which I still sometimes struggle.

That said, I’ve tried to be more expressive in my love for them, and pride in their accomplishments, and more vocal in my support when they’re going through the inevitable “rough” patches of life. Tried to provide more direction, without imposing my decisions—tried to share with them some sense of money, and its management, the thrill of having work that gives you joy (even if the where and who you do it with don’t always), the importance of having the right partner in life…

Sometimes we follow in our parents’ footsteps—and sometimes we go a different way. But here’s hoping that the footprints we leave along the way—intentional and unintended—make other’s lives…better.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad.

- Nevin E. Adams, JD

Conversation "Starters"

 This weekend is, of course, Father’s Day—but my dad’s decision to retire was driven more by time than timing. 

Like many of his generation, once he got to 65, it was time to “retire.” He didn’t have a pension (fortunately for him, my mother did), though he had Social Security, and savings in a 403(b) plan that he contributed to later in life—reluctantly—once he saw Mom’s modest savings in her 403(b) account grow.  

My dad was a man of (very) few words—at least spoken words. Conversations with him generally required… effort. Oh, he’d respond to direct questions, but his answers tended to be short and—well, direct. Again, like many of his generation, mostly he was content to let my mother be the conversationalist in family settings.   

So, when Dad turned to me one weekend afternoon for some input on his retirement planning—well, I was surprised. Not that it didn’t warrant a discussion, mind you—but it was not something we had ever discussed—and more’s the pity. That said, I dived into the financials, played through some spreadsheet projections, and—at the end of what I hoped was an educational and enlightening discussion of his options and trade-offs, their upsides and potential downsides—when I was sure that I had been able to unwind and demystify the maze and presented him with a straightforward presentation of alternatives, there was this long pause—and then, he turned to me and, as politely as he could, said, “I just want to know how much money I’ll have to live on every month.”

That, of course, was also the mindset of many in my dad’s generation—not how much we’ll need, but how much we’ll actually have. Ultimately, of course—certainly at the brink of retirement, that’s the reality of living in retirement. 

Now, the 32^nd annual Retirement Confidence Survey, published by the Employee Benefit Research Institute (EBRI) and Greenwald Research, finds that nearly three quarters (73%) of American workers feel confident in their ability to live comfortably in retirement—indeed, 28% feel very confident (though nearly 6 in 10 say that preparing for retirement makes them feel stressed). While that assessment predated the recent market tumult (and there has been some correlation between the markets and retirement confidence over the years), much less the sustained inflation “bite,”[i] Americans’ confidence in retirement has proven to be pretty resilient—and this despite the persistent finding that many haven’t taken the time to do even a single estimate of their projected needs[ii]—and, at least traditionally, that included measures as unscientific as “guessing.”

Now, as it turned out, my analysis of my dad’s situation (stripped of all the fancy “upside potential” possibilities) affirmed his retirement decision—or at least it didn’t put him off it. I’ve wondered from time to time since what he would have done if it hadn’t. My guess is that, like many Americans confronted with those same realities, he’d have “adjusted.” To this day, I feel really lucky that he didn’t have to (if mostly because my mom’s planning compensated for his lack thereof). 

If it’s a conversation you haven’t (yet) had with your parents—or kids—perhaps it’s time you did.

- Nevin E. Adams, JD

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[i] Though, a third of workers and half of retirees who feel less confident cite inflation and the cost of living as the reason for their declining retirement confidence. 

[ii] However, and while it’s far from optimal, the most recent RCS did find that more than half (58 percent) ages 55 or older have tried to calculate how much money they will need to have saved so that they can live comfortably in retirement.

Leaving a Legacy

As Father’s Day approaches, I’ve been thinking about my dad, the life he led, the choices he made, and the legacy he left behind.

I’m not talking about money. In fact, I didn’t learn anything about finance from my dad—he avoided big purchases with the fervor of Ebenezer Scrooge, though he’d spend that much (and more) on small things (mostly books). Like many in his generation, my dad wanted to hold the checkbook, but it was Mom who always made sure that there was money in the account. Dad tithed “biblically,” but Mom was the one who started setting aside money from her paycheck in her 403(b) plan at work—and continued to do so, even when my father was convinced they couldn’t afford it—and made no secret of that opinion. Or did until he got a glimpse of the statement that showed Mom’s retirement account growth—and then, inspired by that example—he began setting money aside for retirement as well.

My dad was a man of few words—spoken words, anyway. At 6’ 5” he was an imposing figure, all the more from the pulpit from which he did speak. He was a good speaker, but not a natural one. He worked hard at it, studied his subject matter, practiced his presentation relentlessly, each and every week. I always thought it amazing that such a quiet, introverted man would choose that career—but it was something he felt called to do at an early age, though it can’t have been easy. He had opinions, but didn’t impose them on others. Indeed, it was difficult (and sometimes frustrating) to wrest opinions from him. Significantly, he walked his “talk”—his faith, his love and respect for all people, even those with whom he disagreed—and those were attributes in short supply, even then.

Though I talked about my work any number of times over the years, for much of my working life, I don’t think my dad ever really understood what I “did.” Oh, he knew I worked for banks (when I did), figured that being a “senior vice president” had to be a good thing, knew that I had something to do with pensions, and (eventually) grasped that it also had something to do with something called a 401(k). But as for understanding what I actually did every day—well, he cared mostly that I enjoyed the work, that I found meaning in my chosen field, that I was able—or felt I was able—to make a difference.

While Dad touched a lot of people with his ministry, he touched thousands more with what was a random, almost accidental opportunity. Back in 1972 he was asked by a friend to take on the writing of 13 guest columns in a denominational paper—an “opportunity” that went on for more than three decades (alongside his “day job”). In fact, one of the great joys of my life was when, 20 years into this retirement industry career, I was also presented an “opportunity” to begin writing for a living—and my dad, though he didn’t always understand what I was writing about, could appreciate that I was—eventually—following in his (writing) footsteps.

His impact on me, and my life notwithstanding, I’m a different person than my dad, though his example is never very far from my thoughts. As a parent, I’ve tried to share with my kids the lessons I’ve learned (and continue to learn), tried to spare them the pain that came with many of those, but also tried to give them the room they need—and deserve—to learn their own on the life path(s) they chose, though that’s a life lesson of its own, and one with which I still sometimes struggle.

Along the way, I’ve tried to make a point to tell them—regularly—how proud I am of them. But mostly I try not only to tell—but to show them—how much I love them—and to do so as often as I can.

Because while there’s a lot we can leave behind—there’s nothing like a living legacy.

- Nevin E. Adams, JD