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In some ways, it was like any other writing class: backpacks, books, rough drafts, discussions about literature. But instructor Christine Dumaine Leche and her students weren't sitting in a college classroom or a community center — they were on an air base in Afghanistan and the students usually came to class after long days in a war zone. Leche was teaching them to translate their experiences — the danger, the boredom, the painful separation from their families, the fear and the hatred — into prose.

Out of that classroom came dozens of intimate narratives of life as a soldier, including an essay by Sgt. 1st Class Billy Wallace about a previous deployment to Iraq. It contains this scene of him leaving home for that tour:

The dreaded time had come. Time to walk the family to the truck and say goodbye. My wife, Stefanie, and I walked hand in hand. She was squeezing my hand pretty hard. The walk to the truck seemed like the "green mile." I picked up my two youngest, Devon and Caleb.

"Where are you going, Daddy?" asked Caleb.

"I'm going to Iraq to make it a better place."

Then he plunged his fist, a pretend dagger, into my heart. My oldest, Austin, assured me he would be the man of the house.

Then Caleb piped up again, "Are you going to die in Iraq, Daddy?" Before I could answer he started crying as if he had broken his leg — long, deep guttural screams.

Devon, who has Down syndrome and is a total daddy's boy, said, "Daddy, no die please."

In some ways, it was like any other writing class: backpacks, books, rough drafts, discussions about literature. But instructor Christine Dumaine Leche and her students weren't sitting in a college classroom or a community center — they were on an air base in Afghanistan and the students usually came to class after long days in a war zone. Leche was teaching them to translate their experiences — the danger, the boredom, the painful separation from their families, the fear and the hatred — into prose.

Out of that classroom came dozens of intimate narratives of life as a soldier, including an essay by Sgt. 1st Class Billy Wallace about a previous deployment to Iraq. It contains this scene of him leaving home for that tour:

The dreaded time had come. Time to walk the family to the truck and say goodbye. My wife, Stefanie, and I walked hand in hand. She was squeezing my hand pretty hard. The walk to the truck seemed like the "green mile." I picked up my two youngest, Devon and Caleb.

"Where are you going, Daddy?" asked Caleb.

"I'm going to Iraq to make it a better place."

Then he plunged his fist, a pretend dagger, into my heart. My oldest, Austin, assured me he would be the man of the house.

Then Caleb piped up again, "Are you going to die in Iraq, Daddy?" Before I could answer he started crying as if he had broken his leg — long, deep guttural screams.

Devon, who has Down syndrome and is a total daddy's boy, said, "Daddy, no die please."

The House has begun debate on its budget resolution, with a vote expected later this week. And as supporters talk about this budget, there's one comparison you hear a lot.

House Speaker John Boehner, R-Ohio: "Every family in America has to balance their budget. Washington should, too."

Rep. Scott Garrett, R-N.J.: "You know, every family in America understands the necessity of a balanced budget."

Budget Committee Chairman Paul Ryan, R-Wis.: "This is how every family tries to live in good times and in bad. Your government should do the same."

But just how accurate is that analogy?

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Retirement ads are everywhere these days. The Villages lures retirees to come live, love and golf in Florida. USAA offers financial counsel to retiring military personnel. Hollywood stars such as Pat Boone and Tommy Lee Jones dole out all kinds of retirement advice in 30-second sermonettes on television and the Internet.

"Thousands of seniors have turned to One Reverse Mortgage to take control of their retirement," intones Henry "The Fonz" Winkler in one earnest spot.

Old actors don't retire; they just make retirement ads.

But the more talk there is of retirement — on TV, in pop-up ads, in news stories — the more you begin to wonder: What is retirement anymore anyway?

Backyard Hammocks

Time was, the official portrait of a retired American included a steady, dependable pension; leisurely mornings puttering about the house in soft slippers — maybe replacing the chain on the toilet tank ball or knitting a doorknob cozy; slow-driving from drug store to grocery to TV repair shop — back when TVs could be repaired. Afternoons were for penning letters to faraway friends and checking on the backyard hammock hooks.

Oh sure, there was plenty to do — foursomes of bridge and long weekend fishing trips. Perhaps for the more privileged — a beach house, a houseboat, that long-delayed trip to Mexico City.

No mas.

"I think the word 'retired' needs to be retired," says financial writer Kerry Hannon in her 2012 book, Great Jobs for Everyone 50+.

"Baby boomers are either continuing to work much longer or approaching work not as an afterthought, but as a pillar of their retirement plans," Hannon says, "as oxymoronic as that sounds."

Many older people are continuing to work — some out of choice, some out of necessity. "Unlike many of our parents," says Hannon, "most of us don't have pensions to fall back on to fund not-working for a decade or more."

She notes a few statistics: Between 2010 and 2020, people ages 55 and older are projected to be the fastest-growing segment of the U.S. labor force, according to the 2012–2013 Occupational Outlook Handbook, a jobs forecast by the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics. And, according to recent findings by the Employee Benefit Research Institute, more and more workers say they are planning to delay retirement.

Planning For Retirement When Savings Fall Short March 27, 2013