In some circles the term “relativism” is a dirty word. Moral relativism, for instance, holds to the belief that ethical truths depend on the people holding them. I disagree with this type of relativism.

On the other hand (as a lawyer might say) there is a relativism that cannot be denied. I call it Age Relativism and I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately in light of another recent birthday. What we think about what we observe around us depends on our age. That’s Age Relativism.

Former Supreme Court Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes understood the concept. “Old age,” he said, “is always fifteen years older than I am.”

I used to think 60 was old. Not anymore. Seventy isn’t old anymore either and 80 is looking younger all the time.

Years ago I thought many old guys (you know, 60-year-olds) had no fashion sense. Nowadays I understand the joy of wearing the same comfortable clothing for years, regardless of fashion dictates. Elastic has become my friend.

Comfort trumps fashion as one grows older. That’s Age Relativism.

Some 20 years ago I hired a high school student for a part-time job. While establishing her schedule she asked if she could leave at 3 p.m. each Thursday as she had a weekly tea date with her grandmother.

Impressed that a teenager would take time for her old granny, I granted her request and commended her for taking time for her grandmother. “So, how old is your grandmother?” I asked.

“She’s 56,” the young woman replied.

I slumped in my chair. I was 56 at that time and had adjusted to working with people my kids’ age and now I had to adjust to working with people young enough to be my grandchildren.

Grandmothers seemed a lot older when I was younger. That’s Age Relativism.

When I was a young advertising salesperson in Sioux City one of my clients was an attractive, fashionable and gracious middle-aged upmarket restaurant manager. She occasionally stopped by the newspaper to work on her ads. Beyond gracious, the woman was effusive.

The older guys on the staff teased me, suggesting in coarser terms than I care to quote that the woman’s gushy behavior was something more.

Red faced, I protested vigorously. Beyond the fact that I was married, I argued from a 20-something perspective, “she’s got to be at least 45 years old!” Forty-five was ancient. To the older guys who teased me, she was a young chick.

That, too, is Age Relativism.

It has been some years since the young people behind fast-food counters began to automatically give me a senior discount. They never asked my age nor did I quiz them about the qualifying age for a senior discount. Their assumption was based on Age Relativism (and I always appreciate the discount.)

At my Rotary Club meetings I enjoyed visiting with the young professionals. At one meeting, all members younger than 40 were asked to stand for some sort of recognition. Nearly a third of the members present stood.

“I used to be under 40,” I whispered to an older guy sitting next to me. I realized that these young colleagues were younger than my own children.

Age Relativism.

I am a realist; I am no longer young. Newspaper photos of persons my age show wrinkles and thinning or graying hair. While they may look good, they look old. Richard Armour wrote, “Of late I appear/To have reached that stage/ When people look old /Who are only my age.”

Despite realistic concerns about health, a retirement budget and the like, I still look forward to each birthday. Some of my friends and loved ones did not have the privilege of celebrating their 60th or 70th birthdays so I consider each birthday a gift.

Meanwhile, I’ll continue to enjoy the relativism of age and smile when a teenage clerk automatically gives me a senior discount or when a pretty young thing tells me I remind her of her grandfather. Or when a 90-year-old tells me I’m still just a kid.

Life is too short to do otherwise. Like they say, life is like a roll of toilet paper — the closer you get to the end the faster it goes.

Arvid Huisman can be contacted at huismaniowa@gmail.com. ©2025 by Huisman Communications.