Jumpin’ Jack Flash… and Still Jumpin’

Back in the 1960s, when guitars were loud, hair was longer, and parents were worried for all the right reasons, a scrappy little band from England called The Rolling Stones burst onto the scene. You may have heard of them.

They gave us Jumpin' Jack Flash, a song that didn’t just make you tap your foot… it made you jump. And here’s the kicker: decades later, they’re still going. They may not be touring right now, but let’s be honest, retirement hasn’t exactly caught them yet. They’re still, in spirit, jumping.

Now, most of us didn’t spend a lot of time in the ’60s analyzing lyrics; we were too busy dancing. But if you listen closely, that song tells a story. It’s about a rough start, hard knocks, and things not going smoothly. And yet, after every line of struggle comes that defiant chorus:
“It’s all right now… in fact, it’s a gas.”

That’s not just a lyric. That’s a life strategy.

Fast forward a few decades, and here we are, the same generation, just with better stories and slightly more reliable footwear. Retirement shows up, not as an ending, but as a new verse. And sure, this chapter has its challenges. Loss happens. Bodies creak. Downsizing replaces upsizing. And some mornings, you make noises getting out of a chair that used to be reserved for heavy lifting.

But here’s the truth: we were never the “sit quietly and cope” generation. We questioned things. We changed things. We turned things upside down when they needed it. So why would we approach retirement any differently?

You don’t “win” against aging by pretending you’re 30 again; that’s a fast track to pulled muscles and confused grandchildren. And let’s be honest… skinny jeans have an expiration date.

You win by keeping your spirit intact. By laughing at the aches, planning the next adventure (even if it’s just coffee with a friend that turns into two hours of storytelling), and refusing to let the calendar tell you how alive you’re allowed to feel.

Retirement isn’t about slowing down; it’s about shifting gears. Less obligation, more intention. Less rush, more rhythm.

So, when life throws a few bumps your way, as it always has, you can still borrow a line from your younger self and say:
“It’s all right now… in fact… it’s a gas.”

Because the truth is, this stage of life?
It’s not the encore.

It’s the part where you finally get to play exactly the music you want. 🎸

Grandparents Raising Grandchildren: A Different Kind of “Retirement Plan

Retirement is supposed to come with a slower pace. Maybe a bit of travel, a few mornings where the biggest decision is coffee or tea… and then life steps in and says, “How about school lunches and bedtime stories again?”

Many grandparents across Canada are finding themselves in exactly that situation, raising their grandchildren when their own children can’t. It might be due to addiction, illness, loss, or circumstances that didn’t go the way anyone hoped. However it happens, the result is the same: you step in, not because it’s easy, but because it’s necessary.

And just like that, retirement becomes recess duty.

Here’s the truth: it’s more common than it used to be. That doesn’t make it easier, but it does mean you’re not alone. There’s a quiet network of grandparents doing school pickups, helping with homework, and learning that “screen time” is apparently a topic worthy of international debate.

The first big challenge is emotional, yours and the child’s. Children are perceptive. They will notice that their “parents” are a little more seasoned than the others at school pickup. Honesty matters here. Not every detail, not all at once, but a truthful, age-appropriate story builds trust. Kids handle truth better than confusion.

If your adult child is still in the picture, things can get complicated. There’s a balancing act between protecting the child and allowing the parent to remain involved where it’s safe and appropriate. If that relationship can be preserved honestly, where “mom is mom,” and you are the steady support, it can make a world of difference later on. It’s not always neat, but it’s often worth the effort.

Then comes energy. Let’s be candid, young children have two speeds: full throttle and asleep. Many grandparents lean more toward “let’s read a book and have a snack.” That’s not a weakness; it’s a strength. Stability, patience, and presence matter just as much as chasing a soccer ball. Still, this is where family and community step in. Aunts, uncles, neighbours, and friends can help fill in the high-energy gaps.

And yes, there’s the practical question that sits quietly in the background: Can I do this for the long haul?

That’s not pessimism, that’s responsible thinking. Planning matters. Legal arrangements, financial supports, and a backup plan for the child’s care if something happens to you are all part of the job now. It’s not easy to think about, but it gives everyone peace of mind.

The good news? You don’t have to figure it out alone. There are solid supports available:

• Government of British Columbia – Offers information on guardianship, financial supports, and services for kinship caregivers.
• Family Services of Greater Vancouver – Provides counselling and family support programs, including help for grandparents raising grandchildren.
• Grandparents Raising Grandchildren Trust – While based in New Zealand, it offers excellent practical guides and emotional support resources that are widely useful.
• AARP – Surprisingly helpful, with online guides, legal checklists, and stories from other grandparents in similar situations.
• 211 British Columbia – Dial or search online to find local programs, financial aid, and support groups near you.

And here’s something worth holding onto.

This wasn’t the plan, but it is a powerful second chance to shape a life. You bring patience, perspective, and a kind of steady love that only comes from experience. You’ve done this before. Maybe not under these circumstances, maybe not with today’s technology (good luck with the homework apps), but the fundamentals haven’t changed.

Children need safety. They need consistency. They need someone who shows up.

You’re already doing that.

So yes, it’s a different retirement than the one you imagined. Fewer quiet mornings, more packed lunches. Less “What’s for dinner?” and more “Why is dinner on the ceiling?”

But also, more laughter, more purpose, and more moments that matter.

Not bad for a “backup plan.” 

Can Grandpa Still Drive? B.C. Roads, B.C. Rules, and a Little Reality Check)

 There’s a moment that sneaks up on you.

It doesn’t arrive with flashing lights or a parade. It comes quietly, in the mail. A polite letter from Insurance Corporation of British Columbia that essentially says, “Happy Birthday… now let’s talk about your driving.”

This year, I turn 80.

And like many of my fellow Boomers, yes, there’s a whole convoy of us hitting this milestone, I received that letter asking me to visit my doctor and confirm that I’m still fit to drive. Not a suggestion. Not a friendly “if you have time.” More of a “we’ll need to check on that, thanks very much.”

It’s a rite of passage here in British Columbia, and it may be in your area as well. At 80, drivers are required to undergo regular medical assessments to keep their licence. After that, the check-ins become more frequent. You might say the province wants to make sure we’re still driving, and not just out for a Sunday cruise in 1998.

Now, let’s be honest. This isn’t an easy topic.

Driving isn’t just about getting from Point A to Point B. It’s independence. Its identity. It’s the ability to say, “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” and actually mean it. The idea of giving that up feels a bit like being told you can no longer have dessert, technically survivable, but emotionally questionable.

And yet… here we are.

The truth is, as we age, things change. Eyesight isn’t quite what it used to be. Reaction time has a few more “thoughtful pauses.” Night driving starts to feel like a high-stakes video game you didn’t sign up for. Even reading road signs can turn into a guessing contest: “Was that Maple Street,  or a new restaurant?”

The system in B.C. doesn’t assume you can’t drive; it just asks you to prove you still can. Your doctor becomes, in a way, your co-pilot in this decision. And here’s the interesting part: many seniors already know.

Not always out loud. Not always willingly. But quietly, there’s an awareness.

You start avoiding left turns across heavy traffic. You prefer daytime trips. You “just don’t feel like driving” in the rain anymore, which, in B.C., is a bit like saying you don’t feel like breathing.

So what helps when this moment arrives?

A doctor’s opinion carries weight. When it’s framed as safety, not punishment, it’s easier to hear.

Personal safety matters too. Nobody wants to trade independence for injury. The idea of a preventable accident tends to focus the mind remarkably well.

And then there’s the safety of others. No grandparent wants to be that story on the evening news. That one hits home fast.

There’s also a practical side that doesn’t get enough credit. Owning a car isn’t cheap. Insurance, gas, maintenance, it adds up. Giving up the keys can feel less like a loss and more like cancelling a very expensive subscription.

But here’s where the story takes a better turn.

Losing the driver’s seat doesn’t mean losing your life. It just means changing how you move through it.

Public transit in many communities is better than it used to be. Senior shuttle services exist. And families, those same children who didn’t listen to a word you said at Mile Zero, suddenly become very interested in giving you a ride.

Funny how that works.

You may lose a car… but you gain company.

So, can Grandpa still drive?

Maybe. Maybe not.

But the better question is this: can Grandpa still get where he wants to go, stay connected, and live fully?

Absolutely.

And if he occasionally offers a few “words of wisdom” from the passenger seat now… well, history tells us those probably won’t be remembered either.

 

Some Words

There’s a particular kind of confidence that comes with being a parent. You stand there, feet planted, voice steady, convinced that what you are about to say will be remembered for generations. You imagine your children one day repeating your words to their own children… perhaps even quoting you at a family dinner with a respectful nod.

And then life, with perfect timing, gently taps you on the shoulder and says, “Not quite.”

Years ago, my wife spent two weeks each year working as an exam marker for the Ministry of Education in Victoria. It became a bit of a family tradition. The children and I would pack up, take the trip over, and spend a few days exploring, visiting her, and catching up with my brothers, who all call the Island home.

On one of those trips, I took my daughter and her friend to see Mile Zero of the Trans-Canada Highway Mile 0 Monument, the official starting point of the Trans-Canada Highway. Now, if you’re going to stand at the beginning of the longest national highway in the world, it deserves a moment. At least, that’s what I thought.

So I did what any proud Canadian father would do. I launched into a full, heartfelt explanation. I talked about how the highway connects the country from coast to coast, how it represents unity, history, and possibility. I’m quite certain I used my “this is important, you should remember this” voice. I may even have paused for effect.

Ten minutes later, I was satisfied. A lesson had been delivered. A memory had been made. A legacy, perhaps, had begun.

Fast forward to recently. My daughter and her friends had taken a trip of their own to Victoria and found themselves standing at that very same monument. Naturally, the moment stirred a memory.

Later, she told me about it.

She said, “Ann Marie remembers you standing there and saying something… but she couldn’t remember what.”

Then she added, with admirable honesty, “I told her, ‘My dad said some words… but I wasn’t really paying attention.’”

And there it was. Years of carefully crafted parental wisdom, reduced to “some words.”

Not profound words. Not inspiring words. Just… words.

But here’s the thing—and this is where the story softens a little.

She remembered being there.

She remembered the trip, the place, the moment. Not the speech, not the carefully chosen phrases, not the ten-minute lecture on national infrastructure, but the experience. The shared time. The feeling of being somewhere together.

It turns out, we don’t always get remembered for what we say. In fact, if we’re being honest, most of our speeches are quietly filed away in that special place reserved for background noise, somewhere between “eat your vegetables” and “don’t forget your jacket.”

But we are remembered for showing up. For taking the trip. For standing beside them at Mile Zero, even if they’re mentally somewhere around Mile 3,000.

So if you ever find yourself offering a thoughtful explanation, a heartfelt lesson, or a ten-minute history of something you’re sure matters… go right ahead.

Just don’t be surprised if, years later, it comes back to you as, “You said some words.”

And you know what?

That’s perfectly fine.