Grocery and liquor stores in my neighborhood are much more strict about asking for IDs than they were just a few years ago. Of course, if you live near a college campus, you know that checking IDs really hasn’t done much to curb underage drinking. Sometimes I think fake IDs are included in the kids’ orientation packets.

As for those of us who are two and three times as old as the typical student, you’d think our faces would announce that we are over 21. Way, way over 21. Not even close to 21. It takes years of erosion to get a face like mine. Unfortunately, teenage cashiers cannot tell the difference between someone who is 30 and someone who is 90. To them, we’re all the same – old.

In part, that’s true. There’s a huge difference between an 11-year-old and a 16-year-old. Between a 50-year-old and a 55-year-old, not so much. But if you can’t tell the difference between a 21-year-old and a 61-year-old, there’s a problem.

I remember a story about a group of 10 men who got together to eat breakfast and gossip every morning at the same restaurant. Their ages ranged from 50 to 90. The day a new, young waitress showed up, they thought they’d have a little fun.

“You know,” a 60-year-old said, “it’s Joe’s 90th birthday today, and he wants to know if you’ll give him a free piece of cake.”