My children hate it when I call myself "old."  God bless them for it; they're remarkably consistent in their aversion to any indication of my aging.  I'll tell them that I need to take a break from living-room wrestle-mania "because I'm old"...  Or I'll tell them that I prefer to sit in a chair, as opposed to sitting Indian-style on the floor "because I'm getting to be an old man"... And in these situations, Elliot and Olivia will always faithfully interject:  "But Dad!  You're not old!"

This evening, I decided to play out the conversation a little bit further, just for the sake of fun.  I said, "So how old do you think someone has to be before he becomes old?"

Elliot's forehead wrinkled in thought.  "Umm... How old is Opa?" asking about my father's age.

"58, I think," was my answer.

"Well, then I guess you become old when you get to be about 50."  That seemed to settle the question satisfactorily for his eight-year-old mind.  "And, you know, Dad, you're a young kind of grown-up, like with the teenagers and everything"  (I promise I'm not making this up!).

While we were on the subject, I continued probing for other valuable insight into the topic of aging -- and children's perspective on life.  "So how old do you have to be when you become a 'grown-up?'"

"Well, you have to be finished with college first..." and that age, I eventually drew out of Elliot, would seem to typically be about 28 years old.

"And what age are you when you get married?" I asked.

"17" was his confident, immediate, answer.

"What age are you when you start having kids, then?" I asked.

"I don't know.  Like one or two years after you get married?  Or three or four or five."

"But when you're 33, you are..."

"Not old."

Good to know.