Age Prejudice


I suppose I should have seen it coming. I suppose I should have laid down firmer tracks, taken a more trodden path. I suppose I shouldn’t have been so influenced by Robert Frost’s poem, the Road Not Taken. But I was… ‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.’ Well, at least I think I did -I didn’t mean to, or anything; it’s just something that, as I look back through the years, turned out that way.

All our paths are unique, to be sure, and it is likely the conceit of many of us to think that we, alone, have chosen singularities for ourselves –things, if not incomparable, then at least extraordinary: signatures for which only we could have been responsible.

So it is with some dismay that I came across a BBC News article describing a paper by William von Hippel, a professor of Psychology at the University of Queensland, in Australia in which he suggests that ‘although many people remain unprejudiced throughout their lives, older adults have a tendency to be more prejudiced than their younger counterparts.http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-33523313

Older folks? Now wait a minute… As someone who did not suspect his way of life had ‘fall’n into the sere, the yellow leaf’, I feel almost blind-sided. Of course I didn’t see Harper Lee’s Go Set A Watchman coming either. I have been a life-long admirer of Atticus Finch –someone whose name I even bestowed upon a cat I once had- and Lee’s previous book To Kill A Mockingbird was always a beacon in troubled waters for me. Something that let me believe that we were more than our fists. That we could, if we chose, rise above the curses and anger that so frequently filled our streets. But even her older Atticus slipped beneath those waves it seems…

So is this how the path to maturity -the grinding road to wisdom- ends? An abnegation of all the tolerance that we have learned to espouse? An abrogation of all those principles we fought so hard to enshrine in law? A foretaste of the dark night of the soul that lurks, still hidden, behind the shadowed corners of our ever-increasing ages?

In fairness, if you read the original article in Psychological Science https://www2.psy.uq.edu.au/~uqwvonhi/S.vH.R.PS.09.pdf it attempts to frame the problem as a sort of neurologic deficit, suggesting –that age differences in implicit racial prejudice may be due to age-related deficits in inhibitory ability- perhaps absolving us elders of ultimate responsibility. As in dementia, it’s not our fault. Certainly not our wish… Some things, like grey hair or wrinkles, are merely part of the geography of age the trail runs through. But is increasing prejudice a town along the way, or a detour we didn’t have to take? A ghost town, sporting a few boarded up stores and nobody we recognize on the streets? A place we visited years ago, then left because we didn’t feel at home despite the friends we made?

The BBC report neatly summarizes von Hippel’s neurological hypothesis: The frontal lobes are the last part of the brain to develop as we progress through childhood and adolescence, and the first part of the brain to atrophy as we age. Atrophy of the frontal lobes does not diminish intelligence, but it degrades brain areas responsible for inhibiting irrelevant or inappropriate thoughts. Research suggests that this is why older adults have greater difficulty finding the word they’re looking for – and why there is a greater likelihood of them voicing ideas they would have previously suppressed.

Whoaa! I’m not sure I like that… I’ve always had irrelevant and probably inappropriate thoughts. I’ve always been a loose cannon. And now, I suppose, I should be worried that there is a threshold I might some day cross in which my age would shift me from being considered merely eccentric to a diagnosis of mild dementia –frontal lobe atrophy, no less- by default. Or maybe I should have worried about those mysterious frontal lobes all along –maybe I got a damaged pair from the outset.

Hmm, and I always figured it was the result of getting lost on that less-travelled road. It was, after all, ‘grassy and wanted wear’…

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