1949 – You Do the Math


Every day at work I ask people for their birthdate for our computer file records when they purchase something or see the optometrist. From that I calculate whether or not they qualify for senior’s benefits and health care. Anyone beween the ages of 19 and 64 is not covered for eye related perks, so I have to ask.

It’s amazing to me that so many people do not want to give me that information! Well, except for kids, who don’t care, and the very ancient who are incredibly proud of the age they’ve attained, and thrilled if you think they look younger.

No one ever asked me for proof of my age when I was ‘almost 18’ and ‘almost 21’ so I never had to tell an outright lie to get into age restricted venues. I probably would have admitted it if anyone asked. Acting like an adult has little to do with chronological age.

On our trip to the east coast hubby and I qualified for seniors discounts all over the place – some of them using 55 as their minimum. I asked at one point if they wanted to see I.D. and the girls said oh, no. No one would lie about being that old. She’s probably right – my sister who is three years younger never once tried to get the seniors specials.

I think it’s rude to outright ask someone how old they are just because you’re curious. Someone asked me once how old my children were, and I couldn’t tell them the exact numerical answer. I know the years they were born so I can figure it out, but WHY? They’re adults. In their thirties somewhere, I think. Close enough?

Actually there was a period between the ages of 40 and 60 where I really didn’t think much about my own age at all and probably wouldn’t have given you the right answer off the top of my head if you’d asked. It’s not like you get a prize for knowing. So if I told you the wrong thing, sorry. I just don’t think it matters.

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