A few years ago I spoke to a journalism class at a local college. The instructor had the students write stories about me afterward. Then she let me read them.
One student’s paper began something like this: “It was a day like any other day. I was sitting in my Journalism 101 class, staring at the chalkboard when I heard the door at the back of the room open. In walked a middle-aged woman.”
Ouch! That middle-aged woman was me. I knew I was middle-aged but I didn’t think anyone else did. It was a clarifying moment that hurt like a nail in the foot. Eventually, however, it provided some relief as I came to understand that I was no longer being mistaken for a 28-year-old, so I didn’t have to work so hard at looking like one. Besides, that’s not what aging gracefully is about.
People I interview for stories often either balk at or refuse to tell me their age. I explain that printing a person’s age gives our readers context. In this instance, age is not just a number, it’s shorthand for who a person is.
When people are 40, they’re markedly different than the way they were at 20 and will be at 60. They look different, their viewpoints are different, their income is different, the people they associate with are different, their frames of reference are different and on and on. And if none of these things are different, if, say, a woman was exactly the same at 58 as she was at 32 . . . well that would be a story all by itself since she’d be a marvel of nature and her environment. And in that case, leaving out her age in the story would leave a gaping hole.
I’m sure there are valid reasons for people not wanting others to know how old they are, with discrimination ranking high on the list. But I haven’t heard any yet. Usually, the people who refuse to give their ages can’t come up with one.
Sometimes people need to be reminded that yes, you can slow down the aging process, but you can’t stop it. Don’t believe me? Just ask a 20-year-old journalism student how old they think you are. For the record, I’ll turn 44 in a few weeks, and I couldn’t care less who knows it.
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