I'm currently reading a book about women in politics, that begins with the 2008 presidential primary race between a woman and a black man. Hillary v. Barack is rife with misunderstandings and overanalysis between women of both camps, and manipulations of those sensitivities by mostly white men.
As I'm reading it occurs to me that there is one "ism" that is not addressed, ever. As a 62 year old woman I've been invisible for some time. Friendly smiles don't mean respect for my brain; I have eventually become that sweet old lady that lived in the era before women had a clue.
A few days ago, at lunch with a number of other women, most of whom were also in their 60's, the young, cocky male waiter came up to us and asked, "What can I get for you girls?" "Girls?" one of my friends asked in astonishment. The young man in his turn was puzzled at the fuss. Imagine him walking up to a group of men and asking what he could get for "you boys." Doesn't happen.
Ageism is the ism that dare not be spoken. Just as I did back in the 60's, the young continue to treat the old as though age=stupidity and that they have just invented the world in which they happily live. And the worst of all ageisms is that combined with sexism. Don't call me "honey," and don't call me by my first name. Amazingly, I've settled for "Ms." although I have a doctorate, and I am thrilled when I'm not called "Mrs." or "Miss," neither of which is accurate as I am one of those dinosaurs here in 2014 who is married and kept the name of my family of origin (also barbarically still called a "maiden name.")
Sure it's nice to have someone offer me a seat on a crowded bus, although I would surely stand if someone less physically able were to board. It's kind of nice that people who don't know me smile at me because they don't know what a curmudgeon I really am. Good reasons not to ever want to dye my white hair.
But, people, my brain has not changed. I'm still pretty smart, and probably know a lot more about the world around me (except for technology) than most under-thirties. I also have something it will take years for them to gain, a historical perspective of what's going on. Not just because I've been there, but because over the years I've become more open to what happened in the world before my time.
When I was preschool age, my younger sister and I were sitting in a parking lot in the back seat of my father's car. Bored and silly, we noticed a nice older woman sitting in the car next to us. We began to wave. She gave us the finger.
And good for her. At some point, I got the message.
