Kids Your Age

One of the things that I didn't understand about adults when I was a child was their assumption that all kids would, or should, get along.  I hated it when they'd pitch some event to me by saying, "There will be kids your age there!" Then they'd look either expectant or pleased, obviously thinking that they'd just provided me with instant friends. It was baffling.

I wondered how they had forgotten what it was like to be a kid. Did all kids their age automatically get along with them? I assumed that the answer had to be "no." Then why would they assume that all kids my age would like me?

I've never mixed easily or well with other people. It's a skill that eludes me. And, especially as a kid, I was the odd, badly dressed one with body odor who didn't laugh at the standard jokes; no one really gravitated toward me. If I was going to get along with other people, they were generally adults, who liked my rule following, studious nature.

Saying, "There will be kids your age" translated to me as, "It will be really uncomfortable, and kids will make fun of you."

When I'm an adult, I thought, I'll remember, and I won't assume that all kids will love each other, just because they're kids.

So, of course, my children frequently wanted to know, "Will there be kids my age there?"

Again, I was baffled. And my older kids especially were annoyed when I'd say, "There will be kids there," but couldn't specify that there would be kids their ages there. My homeschooled younger two were used to hanging out with kids who might be a mix of three or four years older to three or four years younger, but that's not what life is like in public schools. Two of my high school best friends are three months older than I am, but they were in the grade above me. Several of my other best friends were between 7 and 10 months younger than I was, but because they were in my grade, they counted as "my age," whereas the kids a grade above me were "older."  My older kids were frequently annoyed that there were no kids in their exact grade or their exact number - age 7, 10, 15, whatever - at any given function.

That's OK, I thought. They'll grow up and get over it, and realize that age is not really a big deal. (And to an extent, they did, because most people do.)

When I was in my late 20s or early 30s, I was talking to a friend from church who was probably in her 70s. She had been gone when the leaders announced an event - I think it was a dinner - for our congregation, so I and another friend, a few years older than I, were making sure that she knew about it. "That sounds fun," she said. "And I don't mean to be rude, but do you know - will there be people my age there?"

I probably looked stunned. She was afraid that she'd hurt my feelings, I think, because she was very quick to explain - "I mean, you young people are nice. I enjoy being around young people; it keeps me young. But sometimes, I just need to be around people my own age. They understand me. They've experienced the same things I've experienced, and they remember the same things I do."

"Oh, of course." I assured her that there would be people her age there, and sincerely hoped that there would be. Then I went home pondering the fact that here was obviously another instance where I'd interpreted the rest of humanity incorrectly. Or had I? What if other people her age didn't feel the same way?

I watched people. I asked people. People of different ages. And holy cow, there are a significant number of people who feel most comfortable with other people close to their own age. And the people I asked thought that this was obvious.

It just had never been my personal experience. Who knew it was everyone else's? I mean, what about all that talk about age being just a number?

It's just me, isn't it?