Sometimes the last person you suspect of being ageist is yourself. That is, until...
©2013 by Michael Raysses
I crossed an unforeseen threshold recently. I thought I was just going to the movies with my wife. But as I approached the box office to buy our tickets the voice behind the glass posed a question I’d never heard before: Did I want the senior discount?
I felt like I'd been run through with a sword I didn't see coming. Thankfully, that feeling passed as quickly as it came, giving way to a bemusement that left me asking how old I had to be to qualify. "Sixty-two," was the chronological step I had to ascend to collect. Four bucks never seemed so paltry or loomed so large. I’d barely mentioned that I had a few years before I could claim my reward when I heard the tone of my answer: an odd mixture of defiance and defensiveness.
Reflecting on this later, something occurred to me: I’m a closet ageist. 'Ageist' as in a person guilty of committing that social crime of which there is no enforcement--namely, discriminating against people for merely being old. “Old” as in "not young." “Not young” as in pretty much everyone over 25.
What’s really galling about this revelation is that I’m the last person in the world I would ever have suspected of this kind of behavior. I’m the guy who is suspicious of any society in which the highest compliment one person can pay another is "You look so young!" I’m the guy who stresses respect for the elderly because it’s fair and just. Not to mention that I’ve just joined their ranks....
In the wake of my run-in with the box office bombardier, I found myself repeating personal mantras dealing with the topic of aging: For instance, “I’m as young as I’m ever going to be right this moment.” Or that aging is a privilege. Or, my favorite, (with increasing petulance) that I’m entitled to not be facile at getting older because up until now, I’ve never been this age, so there! (I just stamped my foot.)
The good news is that all of this energy I’ve expended on a topic that shouldn’t be this heavy hasn’t left me needing a sitz bath or craving a cup of hot chamomile tea. The bad news? It’s approaching 4 p.m. and my new favorite restaurant has an early-bird special for dinner. (beat)
Oh, man.....