When someone asks your age, it can be a bit off putting. I never thought I would come to that conclusion, but it offends me. Especially when the emphasis is on the world “old” and “are.” See for yourself:
“How old are you?”
“Oh, I just turned 28 in January.” See, nice and easy.
“How OLD ARE you??”
“Shut up, you look like a 12 year old.” I think I made my point.
This past weekend I went to a friend’s younger sister’s house (did you catch that?) for St. Patrick’s day celebration. It was his younger sister, so we were the older ones there. But, who cares, right? Age is just a number! Well, apparently not.
I was sitting next to my friend and we were talking to each other, a few people standing or sitting near us that I didn’t know. The guy next to us kept trying to get involved in our conversation. He asked where we went to school. We told him. Then he asked how I liked it there. As if I wasn’t graduated.
“Oh I’m very graduated.”
“When did you graduate?”
“OH MY GOD. I graduated middle school in 2009. Hey (someone’s name I don’t remember) what year did we graduate middle school?”
The friend answers from across the patio, “Umm I think 2009.”
“How OLD ARE you??”
That was my cue to move from my spot.
The thing is, I never really think about my age until someone points it out to me. I’ve always hated getting older- ask my parents. This past weekend, we talked about how I’m almost 30 and I teared up. I’ve been like this since around age seven. It’s not that I hate the idea of aging, I just feel like I still have so much to accomplish and I’m not quite there yet. What do I really have to show for myself?
Youthfulness has a connotation of freedom and less responsibility. But to me, we judge people’s ages. We think they should be at a certain point in their life depending on their age. And for whatever reason that scares me. Call me an ageist, I’m just not ready for someone to ask me how old I am as if I’m an ancient relic. Maybe I’m old enough to be your babysitter, but I’m still young enough to still kick your ass.