When I picked up my six-year-old from school he asked “Are you older or younger than my teacher?”
Me: “Well, I don’t know.”
This prompted a discussion about why you don’t ask an adult, particularly female, her age. Very confusing for a six-year-old who thinks eight-year-olds are rock stars, kindergarteners are “little babies” (apparently the greatest insult uttered on any elementary school playground) , and anyone over 20 is really old (translated: about to die any minute).
So no surprise that our briefing about “don’t ask someone their age” didn’t get through to his little cerebral cortex.
And no surprise when I picked him up from school yesterday he could not wait to tell me about his fact finding mission.
El: “Mommy, I asked my teacher how old she is and YOU’RE RIGHT. She’s younger than you.”
Me: “Well, how old is she?”
El: “She’s 42 and I guessed her age!”
Me: “Really? You guessed 42 exactly?”
El: (sounding a bit deflated) “Well, it wasn’t my first guess I think it was my 6th or 7th guess.”
Me: (with a mix of alarm and concern) “6 or 7 guesses?”
El: “I asked her how old she was and she told me to guess.”
Me: “Was your first guess high or low?” (Regretting that I never armed El with one more important piece of advice: Always aim low).
El “Oh, I went high. I started at 49.”
Me: “Then what did you guess?
El: “Then 48, 47, 46…and then I got to 42. And I was RIGHT.”
So much for teaching decorum.
