This as-told-to essay originates from an extended conversation with Chip Carter, thoughtfully condensed and refined to ensure coherence, precision, and readability.
From an early age, I absorbed one of the most enduring lessons from my father, Jimmy Carter—a belief that the concept of retirement should not signify an end, but rather a transformation of purpose. Now, at seventy-five, when I occasionally mention feeling the weight of my years, I can easily imagine my father’s gentle laughter in response. He personified relentless energy and commitment, remaining active and intellectually curious well into his nineties; remarkably, he continued to move forward with intention until around age ninety-four. His passing late last December, at the age of one hundred, became a profound marker of a life lived with conviction and usefulness. In my heart, I know that my father would never wish for me to spend these later years in stillness or resignation. Instead, he would urge me to remain engaged, to apply my skills and passion toward the greater good. In that spirit, I am honored this year to lead the 39th Annual Habitat for Humanity Jimmy & Rosalynn Carter Work Project, a labor of love dedicated to preserving the legacy both my parents built together. During the opening ceremony, I found myself overcome with emotion, tears welling as I realized that for the first time, this cherished project would proceed without my father’s physical presence. Although grief lingered in that moment, the overwhelming sensation throughout the weekend was one of joy and gratitude. Walking onto the build site, my wife noted the wide grin that seemed permanently etched across my face, and when she asked why, I replied simply, “Because we’re home.”
For my father, slowing down was never part of life’s vocabulary. His enduring example reminds me daily that meaning comes from participation—from contributing to something larger than oneself. My parents shared a steadfast belief in both the right to adequate housing and the importance of community. They understood this not in abstract moral terms, but through lived experience: when I was a toddler, we lived in public housing, where they came to appreciate how vital dignified shelter is for a family’s well-being. It is this conviction that inspired their commitment to Habitat for Humanity, an organization rooted not merely in constructing houses, but in cultivating neighborhoods that foster connection, shared responsibility, and hope. This year, our team of volunteers is building twenty-five homes as part of the Carter Work Project, each one representing stability, dignity, and opportunity for a family in need. Among the thousand dedicated individuals contributing to this build, I personally know roughly a third—many of whom, like me, are older adults continuing to invest their time and labor in expanding access to affordable housing. It fills me with pride to see my daughter Margaret and her husband joining the effort this year, carrying the torch into a new generation. Nothing would have pleased my parents more than to witness their grandchildren embracing service as naturally as they did. My father always emphasized that service breaks down barriers; he used to say that when you are hammering nails beside someone, you are not debating politics—you are talking about shared humanity, about children, about baseball, about life. Those moments, however simple, are where true community is born.
Life in the Carter household meant growing up within an atmosphere of both discipline and purpose. My siblings and I were never idle; there was always a task waiting and a lesson hidden within it. My father even paid us according to our age—one penny for each year—so that when I was ten, my wage was ten cents per hour, a thrilling sum compared to my younger brother’s eight. Eventually, fairness and practicality caught up with tradition, and we were brought up to the minimum wage of $1.25 an hour, which at the time seemed like a small fortune. You could buy a Coke and a Moon Pie for ten cents and still feel rich in spirit. Our family life at the dining table often turned into an exercise in mental endurance and debate. My father would deliberately assume the opposing position in any argument, even one he personally disagreed with, pressing us to think critically, articulate clearly, and consider perspectives beyond our own. These discussions were not fleeting; they extended across years, sometimes decades, shaping both our intellect and our empathy.
When my father served as President, his daily schedule brimmed with responsibilities, leaving little room for repose. Yet, during those rare intervals when he returned home with no engagements on the calendar, I saw him ease into a more relaxed rhythm—his humility and humor unchanged, his mind still vigorously alive. In later years, as his health slowly declined, I had the privilege of stepping into the role of caretaker for both my parents. For six years, until my mother passed in 2023 and my father followed her a year later, I shared with them an intimacy that only time and devotion can build. Our evenings—three or four nights each week—were filled with laughter, storytelling, and moments of gentle reflection. Through caregiving, our relationship evolved from that of parent and child to something more like close friendship. Even now, they remain the figures I most admire; their legacy of compassion, resilience, and integrity continues to guide me daily.
Every year that I return to build with Habitat, I feel a profound rejuvenation. My father used to believe that every homeowner who moved into a Habitat house carried with them not only a key but a duty: to nurture and uplift their community. That philosophy endures. The beauty of Habitat lies in its reciprocity—families gain homes that would otherwise be out of reach, while volunteers gain purpose through the act of giving. As I finish a build, I’m always filled with a sense of deep fulfillment, knowing I’ve honored my parents’ faith in service. It’s the most rewarding feeling I have all year, an affirmation that their values live on in every board nailed and every wall raised. My hope is that more people, regardless of age or background, will find their own ways to contribute—whether through Habitat or any endeavor that strengthens the bonds within their community. I intend to keep volunteering for many years to come, drawing strength from the same principle my father lived by: that purpose, once kindled, should never retire.
Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/my-dad-jimmy-carter-taught-me-to-never-retire-2025-10
