Getting old is a
nuisance although there are benefits. Police in passing patrol cars no longer
eye me suspiciously late at night. Lone women in elevators have stopped looking
uneasy when I join them.
As a college student in 1965, I wrote a play that won
a national award. It was never produced, but in 2006 a theater
group in New York chose it for a staged reading. This was not a big deal, but I
wanted to attend.
As soon as I entered the small theater, everyone
perked up. I became the center of attention; people introduced themselves; they
sat me in the place of honor. For reasons I still puzzle over, the group
boasted that its public readings were cold (i.e. unrehearsed). The performance
made this only too clear.
Later I realized why everyone treated me so well. No
one in that theater appeared older than forty. Since I was past middle-age they
assumed I was an agent or producer – an important person. They did not forget
their manners on learning I was merely the writer.
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