The Age Game

Yes, I poked that sleeping dragon...

We all have things we are self-conscious about: the pointy nose, the doughy chin, the vampire teeth, the round-as-a-balloon face. This is a story about one such thing: age.

Personally, I haven't been that self-conscious of my age, probably because I'm the youngest in my family. In any case, I understand why others are and I've always tried to be respectful of that. Without going into any details, I have had multiple opportunities to flaunt my age in people's faces (especially since I graduated early) but instead chose to hide it, not because I was ashamed, but because I didn't want to change their behavior towards me. I didn't think of them as any different than me and I didn't want them to think that way either.

But I digress. I have upset the sleeping habits of this particular dragon due to a conversation I had with a close relative of mine. The conversation was about age differences within families, particularly mine and hers. I mentioned that their age differences, although greater than ours (as they have more siblings than us), seemed smaller, perhaps because they seemed so mature. This was taken in jest until, to prove some UNKNOWN point, she started listing all the ages of everyone in both families. Might I add that she stated I was 22. However, I didn't have a chance to correct her as she had continued on with this for what seemed like quite some time (tumbleweeds may have gone by), each time comparing their birth year to hers. During this time, I had the opportunity to wonder---yes, you guessed it---What the heck is wrong with you?!?!

Finally, after what seemed like a while, she stopped and repeated that I was 22. This time, I suppose she recognized that I had the what-the-heck-is-wrong-with-you look on my face and asked, "You're 22 right?" to which I replied with a smile, "No, I'm 21." She looked at me with a quizzical face and asked, "Are you sure?" No, I don't remember my own birthday. I just like to randomly guess my age on those pesky little forms you have to fill out everywhere you go. (Sarcasm anyone?) "You're two years younger than me right?" She asked. "I am three years younger," I replied, got up and walked away from this absolutely ridiculous conversation.

Now, I know what you're thinking: so, she thought you were one year older, BIG DEAL! You're right. It's not a big deal. I'm 21 now, not 22, but a year from now I will be 22 and, well, she would be right. But, you see, that's not the point. The point is that she felt the need to dish out everyone's age, many of whom were not present, get someone's age wrong and second guess that person's response based on her belief that she knew how old everyone was in comparison to her. Well, with all due respect, I sincerely believe she should rethink this absolutely useless employment of her brain cells. Wouldn't you agree? Rather than memorize everyone's birthdays (which serves no other purpose than to boost one's ego and bust others'), wouldn't it be better to use those brain cells for world peace, or the hunger crisis? Even the ever challenging question of "Who came first: the chicken or the egg?" is more worthwhile than this pursuit.

Being 21, I am not an "old" woman looking to garner support for her position in life, I am a simple girl who has the luxury to say something truthful without being pigeonholed: Why, oh why, do we use a meaningless number to define individuals in their entirety; sum up their entire life, their beliefs, their behavior, their personality, their hopes, their dreams, their accomplishments, their failures into one number? How does knowing that someone's 21 or 22 tell you who that someone is? The answer is simple, it doesn't.

Perhaps this modern custom of assigning significance to a person on the basis of age would not seem so obnoxious to me if it was yet another patriarchal aspect of society but it is absolutely infuriating when you realize how much of this is the product of women themselves labeling others with the same instrument that wounds them. It is quite apparent in society that women are sensitive about their age, something that implies that there is some incredible significance in it. Add to this the fact that they pass on this shamefulness to their daughters and act ashamed of their ages as well. At this point, which of these women have any authority to say that defining a women by her age is immoral, when they themselves subscribe to this perspective? How can we say that something should not be done when we ourselves perpetuate it? So, please, if not for your sake, then for the sake of those you call your sisters, your mothers, and your daughters, do not -- I repeat, DO NOT -- make age the one defining factor of a person who is so much more than that.

I am 21, yes, but that's not all I am. You're x years old, yes, but that's not all you are. So, next time you feel the need to waste your brain cells on someone else's age so that you can bring it up at the next party to embarrass them or to make yourself feel better, realize that you are wasting your time because at the end of the day you have memorized two digits that go after one another but have no real significance in anyone's life, especially not yours. Use those brain cells and that precious time in your life to go hug a baby. At least, it won't think you're evil.