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One spring day back in the early 1960s, while my father and I worked his 3-acre tobacco crop, I quizzed him about the old days.

“Dad, did the Great Depression have much of an impact on you?” I asked. “Son,” he replied, “the Depression is still impacting me.”

Some 45 years later, I finally understand what he meant.

A financial crisis translates into limited options.

In my father’s case, it meant his parents didn’t have the money to send him to college. And he didn’t have a job to pay his way.

Fortunately, Dad qualified for the Civilian Conservation Corps, one of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s work relief programs.

Eventually, he scraped together enough money to buy a small farm in Sampson County, where he “put down roots.”

Nothing wrong with that. But instead of becoming an architect or an accountant, he supported a family of six — including his mother and father — by the sweat of his brow.

My wife and I have begun to sweat our own futures. Like millions of others nearing retirement, our options suddenly look limited, too. Uncertain might be a better word.

The nation’s worsening financial crisis has filled our lives with more questions than answers.

At 61, will I be able to retire in five years?

Will my wife be able to retire early?

When we do retire, will we have to work part time? Will we outlive our savings, which have lost thousands of dollars during the market downturn? What about those travel plans? The volunteer work we want to do? Our lifestyles?

Forget Wall Street, will a bailout help our street? Does Congress appreciate the gravity of the situation? Who knows?

The only thing certain these days is the uncertainty — and that time isn’t on our side. That’s the reason for all the angst among people our age.

It must be showing.

Last Tuesday, I went to the Smith Street Diner for lunch. As usual, I spent the hour reading USA Today, The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times.

The headlines told a bleak story: Dow plunges 778. Bailout plan rejected. Next step uncertain.

When the waitress came to clear the table, she must have seen the anxiety on my face.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

“Yeah, thanks,” I said. I lied.

I’m typically voted the No. 1 optimist on my block. But this has me worried. All the numbers are headed in the wrong direction: Unemployment up; housing values down; cost of living up; consumer confidence down; foreclosures up.

It’s like Rep. Mel Watt told me last month: “We’re in a hell of a mess.”

Thankfully, things aren’t as bad as they were when Dad — who turned 17 the year the stock market crashed — came along. At least, we’re not in a depression. At least, not yet.

Back in the old days, when people stood in bread lines and lived in shantytowns, my Dad followed his own advice: “When the going gets tough,” he liked to say, “the tough get going.”

But today, does anyone know which way to go?

Contact Donald W. Patterson at 373-7027 or don.patterson@news-record.com