My father was always a thrifty guy and he tried – mostly unsuccessfully – to pass that trait on to me and my siblings.
When I was six, he gave me a little basket with a lid to save the money I earned from the Tooth Fairy and doing chores. When my basket was full, he took a disappointing amount to the bank to put it all in a savings account. According to a story my parents liked to tell, I shouted, “But I already saved it! Now it’s time to spend it!”
My father lived a frugal lifestyle
Working hard and saving money, my three brothers and I were told, was the only path to true happiness, and my parents practiced what they preached. My father worked for the same sausage company for most of his life; he started working there at 15, sweeping the parking lot, and stayed until he was in charge of all plant operations in his early 30s.
When the company was sold and his location closed, my father—by then divorced from my mother—moved six hours away to run the new location. He could more easily imagine himself starting over alone in a new city than starting over with a new company.
He visited my siblings and I every other weekend. He was a master of finding frugal ways to entertain and always gave generously of his time and attention.
The author (in the red shirt) and her sister getting a ride from their father. Courtesy of Rebekah Sanderlin
A typical Saturday would include lunch at Sam’s Club, where he encouraged us to eat all the free samples. Then we can grab a piece of stale bread to feed the ducks in the park or spend an entire afternoon riding elevators in downtown buildings. We went to free air shows and concerts and loaded up on cheap candy at the dollar store before sitting at a 99 cent movie theater.
He couldn’t wait to retire and start living
My father had many ways of cheating. He priced every purchase and always bought store-brand products, which, after decades in the food industry, he preached were of the same quality and often made by the same manufacturers as the name brands. He never bought a new car – only used – and drove them until they no longer made financial sense.
When the head on one of them got so low it blocked the rearview mirror, his solution was dozens of colorful tracks pushed haphazardly into the ceiling of his sedan. I moved them around while he drove, like his car was a mobile Lite Brite.
It would have been a perfectly fine solution for a teenager, college student, or someone struggling to make ends meet, but my dad was the top boss at the largest employer in his town. He could have bought a new car – or at least a newer one – and even been able to pay cash for it.
But his plan had always been to retire early. He was looking forward to finishing his working life. To him, work was something you did until you could afford to quit and start living. Every paycheck brought him closer to that goal.
The author and her father at her graduation party. Courtesy of Rebekah Sanderlin
His life became small
At the age of 45, he was laid off. He hadn’t planned on retiring so early and tried to find another job, but after a few years of searching and a few stints at jobs he hated, he looked at his accounts and realized he didn’t need to work anymore. At 50, he could retire early and have plenty of time to do whatever he wants.
The problem was that he had never figured out what he really wanted to do with his time. Weeks would go by without doing anything at all. He had never developed the kinds of interests that can sustain people once they stop working.
Moreover, his retirement budget was so tight that he could not afford to explore anything new; he once told me that all his monthly expenses including housing, utilities, vehicle, food and everything else, was only $900. His parents had both lived into their 90s and, although he had a little saved for retirement, he worried that his savings might not last a lifetime.
He wouldn’t even go out to eat with me and my brothers because restaurants just weren’t in his budget. We would have paid for it, of course, but he was too proud to let us do it. My father’s life became small – a frugal monastic prison.
Most importantly, his budget left no room for health insurance. This was before the Affordable Care Act, and he found that buying health insurance would cost him more than $1,200 a month, an expense he felt he couldn’t justify. He reasoned that his health would likely be fine until he was old enough for Medicare, but he was wrong.
The author and her father at a Blue Hawaii themed party a few years before his death. CJ Shelker, courtesy of Rebekah Sanderlin
A cancer diagnosis changed his perspective on money
He lived like this for eight years, until January 2008. Although he had lost a lot of weight and had been complaining of a sore throat for months, he refused to see a doctor because of concerns about the cost.
After my siblings and I convinced him to see a family friend who was a doctor, we finally found out what was going on: At age 58, my father was diagnosed with stage 4 esophageal cancer and told that had six months to live. When the reality of his diagnosis set in, it also hit him that he would never be able to spend the money he had saved since he was 15 years old.
One day, he wrote each of his children a check for $10,000, saying he wanted us to go shopping and buy ourselves something expensive, something he had never done for himself. He joked that he had already saved the money and now it was our turn to spend it, laughing as he turned that old family story on its head.
At the time he was too ill to shop with us, but we each showed him our purchases. I was pregnant at the time and bought myself an expensive designer diaper bag. I also bought a pair of real diamond earrings and his eyes lit up as he watched me slip them into my ears.
Turns out the same man who’d fingered his car really liked being the kind of dad who could buy his daughter diamond earrings and a designer diaper bag.
The author wearing the diamond studs her father bought her, which she almost never takes off. Christal Marshall, courtesy of Rebekah Sanderlin
He died not long after that, exactly six months after being diagnosed.
I don’t think anyone should stop working completely
Nowadays, when I hear people say they want to retire early, I feel like I’m watching a teenager in a basement-only horror movie. With all the ways there are for people to engage in work and monetize their passions, I don’t think anyone should stop working entirely, or at least doing things that bring them purpose.
Stop working a job you hate? Absolutely. Spend more time on activities that don’t pay very well, if at all? Hello, I’m a writer! Volunteer in your community or babysit for family members or friends? Please do it. But withdraw completely with no plan to engage in activities that provide a sense of purpose? I just don’t see how it’s good for anyone.
However, I have inherited some of my father’s frugal ways. I always shop on price and fill my grocery cart with store brand foods. That old designer diaper bag now serves as my laptop bag, a reminder of everything I learned from my dad.
Diaper bag turned laptop. Rebecca Sanderlin
And thanks to his teachings, I have a financial plan and solid savings. I plan to slow down as I age, but I don’t plan to ever retire. I will write as long as I can, volunteer as long as I need to, and do it all while wearing the diamond pins I got from my dad.
Rebecca Sanderlin is a freelance journalist, writer, screenwriter and marketing strategist.
If you retired early and would like to share your story, email Jane Zhang janezhang@businessinsider.com.