I am, officially speaking, old. I know this because I got an email telling me so. Exactly one week before my birthday, I received a message from the professional body to which I belong. The email was nice and unfailing polite, but beneath its veneer of courtesy beat a heart of dark savagery.
I am, officially speaking, old. I know this because I got an email telling me so. Exactly one week before my birthday, I received a message from the professional body to which I belong. The email was nice and unfailing polite, but beneath its veneer of courtesy beat a heart of dark savagery.
‘Dear Mr. Stuart,
On behalf of the Institute, thank you for your loyal membership of the Young Member Section. As you are now an experienced professional you are ready to take advantage of a range of other Institute products and services. This means you no longer qualify for Young Member status, which will change the communications and activities you currently receive and attend.
How does this affect you? You will be removed from Young Member communications’
It was at this point that I stopped reading. To be evicted as a ‘Young Member’ was an indignity almost too great to bear. Was there a vote? Did other members of the Young Members Section write my name down on a piece of parchment whilst sitting around a campfire? I certainly hope so. But in truth, the wheels of administration turn in a far less theatrical manner. Whilst the decision was probably more routine than personal, that doesn’t mean I have to take a pronouncement of this kind lying down, leaning against a doorframe or even reclining in a chair. There comes a time when you should express your feelings in the full and complete knowledge that it will make no difference whatsoever. It’s undignified and a more than a little petulant, but boy oh boy, is it satisfying. It was with this in mind that I wrote back.
‘Dear Institute – Next week, I turn forty. To date, I’ve given little thought to this impending milestone. That is, until I received your email. That I can no longer be regarded as a ‘young member’ is the first tangible evidence I have that the march of time cannot – in spite of my best efforts – be halted. Whilst I must now accept the inevitable, I suspect your email is simply the thin end of the wedge and I can expect to be omitted from anything featuring the word ‘young’. The Young and the Restless will be strictly off-limits, to say nothing of Young Talent Time (that is unless they accept my proposal to establish a ‘mature-age entry’ scheme). It is clear that I will no longer be able to use terms like ‘dude’, ‘man’ or ‘cool’ and any text message using the acronym ‘LOL’ will be simply unbecoming. In fact, text messages in their entirety are best avoided. On the plus side, however, I can now complain about ‘young people’ with absolute impunity. I plan to do so often, loudly and without apology.
Perhaps I’ve taken news of my disqualification poorly. But of all the impending delights that come with middle age – weight gain, lethargy and hair that grows from the middle of your ears – it was the fact that I can no longer be considered a ‘young member’ that arrived first.’
Chances were that my email would be dismissed as a middle aged rant and despatched with speed to the ‘junk’ folder with the kicker that all my emails would in future be separated from the herd. There was, however, a response.
‘Dear Stuart,
Many, many thanks for your email. We are happy to keep you on the mailing list for the Young members section for as long as you wish – if only to help to delay the passing of time. Otherwise on behalf of member services I wish you a very happy birthday and an enjoyable middle age!’
I suppose that turning forty is as good a time as any to officially draw the curtain on your youth even if, in truth, that rather unseaworthy vessel sailed some time ago and has been steadily taking water ever since. But it gets better. When the big day finally arrived, there was a card from the Institute wishing me a happy fortieth birthday. It was, in a funny kind of way, an extremely sweet thing to do and I was touched. Whilst everybody yearns to be treated as an individual, we’re each prone to forgetting that’s exactly what we are. Sometimes the reminder comes from the most surprising quarters. Then again, surprises are what birthdays are all about. That they accepted my email in the spirit in which it was intended was, as it turns out, more a gift to me than to them. And I am, without doubt, most grateful.
Happy birthday to me.