XXXIII

STIPIMM: The theme from The Naked Gun

It seems I’ve lost whatever small ability I had to tell ages amongst my peers. Yesterday, when speaking to a couple of co-workers, I learned that one of them, who I had assumed was in his late 30s (because of gray hair and the look of his face), was actually my age. And another co-worker, who -- because of his demeanor, knowledge and look – I thought was several years older than me, was in fact quite the opposite; he’s 30.

I’m getting carded less and less 12 years after becoming legal, but I still look considerably younger than my 33 years. It’s both a blessing and a curse, of course. I have the gift of long-lasting youth, but it means that, in the subconscious of many peers and elders, I’m still but a whippersnapper. It was sometimes a social obstacle; it’s hard to get a woman to take you seriously for a date if you look like you’re five years younger than she (even if she knows otherwise). In teaching, it makes it easier to relate to students, but at the same time, it makes it harder to create the important distinction between professor and student. I tell Bridget that sometimes I feel more like a graduate student who happens to be teaching more than I feel like a professor in how I talk to students.

But, truth be told, I’m in no hurry to grow up visually. Looking young has kind of been my thing for the past 10 years or so. It’s a way of lowering expectations and blowing people away when they find out either how talented I am or, more superficially, how old I am. My dad used to say that he was a babyface when he was in his 20s; for him, it changed when he was 30. As he described it, when he was in his 20s, he looked like a teenager, but when he turned 30, he suddenly looked 30. I’ve always assumed that the same fate would befall my boyish looks. But so far, I’ve managed to beat his aging by three years.

Of course, now that I’ve put that informational nugget down in print, I’m sure by my next birthday, I’ll look like I'm in my late 30s. Such is life.