Thirty-seven years ago, Peggy Boyer, then a reporter for the young Illinois Times, wrote an article on delivering the U.S. mail. I was the subject; young and brash, like a teen who knows more than his parents ever will, I was sure I was giving Peggy great insights into postal delivery. I can only say that it was her great skill that made me seem at all professional and knowledgeable. Next month I am retiring from the Postal Service and thought it might be time for an update.

The Post Office is a part of the fabric of our nation, but the U.S. Postal Service incarnation is a relatively modern enterprise. It was birthed from the pains of the St. Patrick’s Day postal strike of 1970. Before that great strike, the wages of a full-time carrier still made you eligible for food stamps. I am a part of that first generation of postal workers and letter carriers that were welcomed into the middle class, thanks to our union and a brief clarity of Congress that produced the Postal Reorganization Act of 1970.

I have worked for employer and union.

It has been the union that has protected the workers from many misguided management approaches. There was a clear set of issues that moved “going postal” into the common lexicon. The congressional study that followed called us a “dysfunctional organizational culture” and it was so. But while fighting for dignity was often a daily encounter with management, so was daily service for the patrons on the route.

Carrying mail is humbling. Every day you are in the awesome presence of nature. For every breeze on a flower-filled spring day or glistening white pristine snowfall there is also the day of oh-so-cold rain or temperature extreme. I am better for the humbling.

For the last 20 years I have delivered “the walk in the park” in the Oak Knolls neighborhood just south of Washington Park with its summertime canopy of oak and sweet gum. It is a neighborhood of prosperity and professionals. I have logged a majority of my 50,000 career walking miles here. I’ve purchased gallons of curbside lemonades. I’ve eaten far too many Christmas cookies and fudge. I’ve picked up tons of food for the Letter Carriers annual food drive. I’ve seen streets get gray only to have the noise of children’s play just a few years later. I have tried to fully appreciate the colorful majesty of the oaks and maples in the fall, and the hostas, hyacinth and hydrangea. Generally I have enjoyed this life.

There is an urban jungle of squirrels, rabbits, opossum and raccoons. Geese chronicle the seasons’ change. Even deer, wild turkey and eagles have not stopped the U.S. Mail. Most often I’m greeted by the family dog. From Salty to Barkley, Socks, Duke, Tootsie, Heather, Gus and Lola and so many more, I have been able to view kindly (with apologies to the great Cuban novelist Alejo Carpentier) that family relative who speaks a different language and often practices a different religion.

I’ve delivered the numerous birthday cards, congratulations, graduations, wedding announcements and bereavements. The tapestry of our community life often travels through the mail. The daily rounds bring mothers with baby buggies, schoolchildren walking home, runners and cyclists; the scent of fresh mowed lawns and hammers announcing a new roof. I will miss them when I retire.

It takes a lifetime to build a life. My purpose for waking up each morning will be different soon. I look forward to discovering it. May the next carrier in the neighborhood find pleasure and service there, too.

David Lasley has been a letter carrier for nearly 40 years. He is past president of National Association of Letter Carriers Branch #80, and a north ender. He’s looking forward to serving his union and community as a retiree.