Dear Wendy,
So yeah. I just read the article you forwarded to me from Huffington Post, by the 50-year-old woman who lied about her age to her little girl: It’s My Birth Date and I’ll Lie if I Want To. Like you, I kept waiting for the author, Ramona Duoba, to reveal the punchline: oh, she was just kidding, she really doesn’t mind aging so much; and lying to our kids is bad, so she fessed up and made amends, and….
But nope. None of the above. Her daughter asks her what year she was born, and she offers yet another vague—and untruthful—reply. That’s it? That’s the story? A mum lies to her daughter, and then when she has the chance to make things right…she lies again? Well, then.
But this story reminded me of another one. When Mitchell was born, his mother, Phyllis, was 37 years old. That was considered an advanced age for a new mother, and she was self-conscious about it, so to forestall Mitchell telling all his friends about his “older” mother, she shaved 10 years off her actual age. At some point, though, she let slip that she’d been born in 1921.
So poor Mitchell, who was good in math, would try to add it up mentally: “Okay, Mum is 37 now. She was born in 1921. 1921 plus 37 equals…no, wait, that can’t be right. Okay. Let’s do it another way. It’s 1968, and 1968 minus 37 equals…but that’s not right, either! Why doesn’t this work?” He went over and over it in his head, and he could just never get those darned numbers to add up.
It never dawned on him that his mother might have been intentionally misleading him—why would she? She always told him it was important to tell the truth! It wasn’t until years later, when she confided that she hadn’t wanted his little friends to take tales back to their (possibly gossipy) mothers, that he understood that his mental math wasn’t the problem.
A cute story, but ultimately, what makes me uncomfortable with Duoba’s version is not just the lying to her kid. I’m pretty sure we’ve all told our children things that weren’t strictly true (coughEasterBunnymissedhisflightcough), and they’ve grown up relatively unscathed. I think.
My problem with her piece is that in lying to her daughter about her age, she’s passing along a very destructive and potentially damaging message: “It’s not okay for women to grow older.” If she really is “lying in order to feel better about myself,” she’s telling her daughter that for a woman to feel good about herself, she must remain perpetually young (and by extension, sexually attractive).
“No, darling, I’m not 50! I’m…uh…26! Yeah, that’s the ticket! 26!”
Duoba writes, “This past December [my daughter] said to me in a concerned tone, ‘now wait, you’re not going to be 50, are you?’ This was my chance to come clean and explain to her why I haven’t been completely honest. But, how could I? She seemed genuinely disturbed by the idea.”
Well, duh.
If a kid spends her life around someone who’s afraid of their own age, don’t you think that’ll rub off? There’s nothing heroic about “saving” her daughter from the horrible truth that her mother is (gasp!) 50 years old; but there’s a lot that’s cowardly and short-sighted.
Love,
Karen
Dear Readers: What do you think? Would you lie to your kids about your age?
Great post, Karen. Yes, Mum’s concern was about gossipy neighbours (hmmm…shall I name the name behind a street address that may or may not have been ’4839′?), in an era when having a first child at age 37 *was* seen as fodder for endless chatter, none of it friendly. But the story of my mental math dates back to the second half of the 1960s — before Woodstock, for goodness’ sake — and notwithstanding Paul Ryan’s and Todd Akin’s attempts to turn back the clock, I would have thought that two very important things had changed since then: We’ve figured out that women and men both lose out when women are objectified and forced into a Barbie mold, and we magnify that problem when we push it on to the next generation. I didn’t see the Duoba piece on HuffPo, but I hope it generated a bunch of reaction…and I hope the author changes her ways, for her daughter’s sake if not her own.
I am proud to be 50 to a 1st and 3rd grader! I much prefer to tell me real age and be told ‘Wow, you look good…. for your age!” than lying about it and hearing ‘Yikes! What happened to her?’
LOL…good point, Audrey! Thanks for stopping by.
Karen
I think it is very unfortunate that women feel the need to lie about their age. I also think it’s unfortunate that they obsess about their weight. I know why they do these things, I just think it’s unfortunate. Living healthy definitely helps with these two problems. I may not tell the complete truth about stuff all the time, but it would never occur to me to lie about my age.
Same here–and I get why some women feel they need to lie about their age. I find it sad, and I feel like we owe it to our daughters (and sons) to turn it around if we can.
K.
I read that HuffPo article too – and no, I don’t think it is okay to lie about age or anything with our kids (except when coughKisseshealemotionalhurtsimmediatelycough) I mean, what’s the problem with getting older? Sad. It probably goes much deeper than that. Sigh.
In general, it is best not to lie, as much as possible, as it takes away the pressure to remember all those little fibs.
And here i am – feeling rather proud of the grey swathes in my hair at the ripe old age of 49. Hmmm.
Hugs to you both!
You’re right, Vidya–lying about anything real creates a toxic environment. And your grey hairs are very becoming!
K.
Age matters though doesn’t it? Until about 10, you always add the “and a half”, then you add a couple of years to get into places where only teenagers are allowed, then to be able to buy alcohol. Somewhere in the middle it all becomes a bit vague and then from about 70 it’s “next birthday I’ll be …”. I’m still at an age where I have to work out how old I am so only lie when my maths lets me down but for about twenty years in my head I thought was 23. But no we shouldn’t lie about our age; there isn’t any need.
It’s true, Anne — I have had the same problem of not actually remembering my age! But deliberately lying this way sends a clear message to the daughter that aging is somehow bad or shameful.
K.
I never lie about my age. It’s not really the number itself that bothers me, but the physical manifestations of aging. If lying could create the illusion that I’m not wrinkly, saggy and grey, I might seriously consider it.
Thanks for the comment–I think we each have our own personal responses to the physical “stuff” of aging. Mine is that I really hate the stiff joints, the sense of having to slow down more than I used to, the inability to stay awake past midnight…but the wrinkles don’t really bug me.
K.
Great post. Aside from a few aches, I don’t mind getting older, and I never lie about my age. In fact, all of us ladies in US Masters swimming love “aging up”.
That’s great, Teresa — and so cool about the swimming!
k.
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Why lie? I’ve earned every one of those gray hairs that I pay somebody to deal with!
Hi, Kathy–nice to see you here! And yes, my sentiments exactly. I earned ‘em, they’re mine, and I’m proud of them.
K.
Glad to find you – you are very humorous and lovely! I appreciate what you are writing about and think your blog is great. Best to you, Cathy
We’re glad you’re here. Take care,
Karen
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I’ve never lied to my kids about my age. I sometimes wished they would have kept it to themselves, though. As for turning 50, I’m 54 and proud of it! The older I get the prouder I am of my age. Must be something wrong with me.
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you–I feel the same way!
K.
My mother lied about her age for the reason as Mitchell’s. It didn’t cause me to fear aging, but it was one more thing that made my mother seem weird and untrustworthy.
It’s sad–I wish some parents understood how their own behaviour and attitudes affect their kids. Our mother was obsessively secretive about everything, and it took me ages to realize that her behaviour just wasn’t normal.
K.
That is the worst of it. Most of us accept what we learn as children to be normal, even when it is far from it. I thank God for good libraries. Seriously. Without books, I’d have had no clue what healthy relationships look like.
I hear you! For me, it was spending time with my husband’s family that really made the difference. Suddenly, I was around people who actually liked and respected each other. Weird.
Great post! I agree that lying would be very odd. I try to own my age and admit it readily. If the response is “oh my word you don t look 51″, I admit it is flattering. I may lie in the opposite direction just for the potential compliments.
Exactly!