“Senior Coffee” for “Senior Faculty”? Seein’-Your Age Bias

I pulled through McDonald’s drive-through and ordered a small coffee, black. When I got to the pay window, the high-school cashier cheerily said, “84 cents please for your senior coffee!” Nice. Then I pulled up to the food window. “Here’s your senior coffee!” Was my decrepit condition that obvious at the kiosk?

That wasn’t my first brush with ageism in the past week. Last Friday, a faculty visitor from another university opined, “I’d be careful about making a senior hire. Too many of these people retire soon after they arrive.”

Interesting he should say that. Eight years ago, his university called me to say they identified me as finalist for a “senior hire.” At the time, my School was openly considered for consolidation due to severe budgetary problems at UIUC. So, I interviewed at this major research university in the South.

Everything was going well. In the afternoon, I was given the usual tour around the campus and community. My host was the co-chair of the Search Committee. Like a crack of thunder from nowhere, she said, “How old are you?” “Huh,” I replied incredulously. I was interviewing at a law school! “I’m 54, why do you ask?” “Oh, well, sometimes our senior hires retire in a year or two to play more golf.” Dead silence the rest of the drive. (I don't golf.)

This post might seem like it’s about “PC” talk around age. Nope. It might seem to be a legal reminder. Nope.

It’s about how we hurt ourselves when we indulge in age bias. What do I mean?

My “senior wife” took about 30 4^th graders this week on a round-trip, four mile hike from her school to the State Farm Center to see a basketball exhibition game specially scheduled for school kids. The temperature was about 45 degrees. I knew she’d be fine.

Later that day, she greeted a soon-to-be-student teacher by saying, “If you take the assignment with me, get ready to be on your feet 80% of the time all day, like me.” “That’s a lot,” said the student. “I’m 61,” said my “senior wife”: “It’s the only way to do this job.” “Oh, I thought you were in your 40s.” (Good guess!)

Twice a month, I have breakfast with a young man who is in his 90s. Seriously, our conversations are the most engaging, fun, thought-provoking talks of my week. (Sorry to my “senior wife,” though our talks are really good.)

At our Y where we drag our “senior bodies” every work morning, dozens of “seniors” are with us between 5:30 and 7:00 jogging, running, walking briskly, swimming, or lifting weights. A few people have walkers, that’s true. They are working their tails off to get stronger and better every day. They’re total winners.

If seein’-your colleagues, neighbors, and friends causes you to stereotype them as old, the sad reality is that you might lose out: Someday you’ll be a senior but your stereotypes will translate into a host of I-can’t-because-I’m-old behaviors and handicaps. Life doesn’t end at 30 … or 40 … or 50 … or 60. It actually can get better.