Earlier this month, our local newspaper interviewed me for a careers feature they run periodically on businesses in our area.
After my name, the first question was, “How old are you?”
Now I can’t speak for others, but that’s a question I never answer — ever!
It’s right up there with “How much money do you make?” and “How much do you weigh?”
After a certain age — for women, I think 35 — you shouldn’t have to answer it. I mean, my son is 19 so you do the math! If you want to think I had him at 16, be my guest!!
Probably because I work in a traditionally young person’s field, I don’t want to age myself out of business. Nor should I have to.
Age is a funny thing, really. When we’re kids, we’re always looking forward to the next birthday. We’re not “twelve-and-a-half;” we’re “almost thirteen!”
And when we become young adults, we never feel compelled to fudge on our age. Any time I got carded for trying to buy a drink in my twenties (yeah, I know — young and dumb!), I couldn’t fish out my drivers license fast enough!
So when is it that we become more secretive about our age?
For some, it’s “middle age.” While a few flaunt it without shame — letting their hair go totally gray, embracing their “spare tire” or bald head — others re-double their efforts at chasing youth. They join gyms, invest in hair dye and Botox, or dump their spouse for a younger model.
I’ve known people who’d never ask for a Senior Discount and others who think even buying gasoline should qualify for one!
Perhaps the truly old people are the luckiest. They can commiserate about their age-related aches, joke about their “senior moments,” spend countless hours reminiscing about the Good Old Days, and remind us that “age is just a number.”