Older Than Dirt?

The headline on a recent news article read: “Joe Biden Refuses to Rule Out White House Run in 2020.” My spontaneous response was audible: “Come on, Joe. You’re too old to run for president in 2020.” I like Joe Biden in many ways. He’s Scranton, Pennsylvania-born, and when first elected to the Senate in 1972 in quite an upset, he became the sixth youngest senator in American history. He commuted by train daily from Delaware, the state he represented until he became the Vice President in 2009. Biden is no stranger to tragedy, having lost his wife and infant daughter to a car/tractor-trailer accident shortly after winning his senate seat, and his son to cancer before the 2016 election. And I love the hilarious memes featuring the Obama/Biden bromance. 

But here’s my problem: I was a junior in high school when Biden came to the Senate. He’s more than a decade older than I am, and I already have my Golden Buckeye card. In 2020, he’ll be seventy-eight years old.Replace Joe Biden’s name with septuagenarians Bernie Sanders (76), Hillary Clinton (70), Mitt Romney (71), Mitch McConnell (76), or Donald Trump (71), and my reaction is similar: “Move out of the way and let someone younger have a chance in 2020.” In comparison, Elizabeth Warren, disparagingly labeled “Granny” by the Boston Herald, is a young’un at 68.

Have I come to the place where I think that anyone who is older than I am is too old to run for president of the United States? Does age matter? Should age matter? After all, Cicero (106-43 B.C.) reminds us, “it is not by muscle, speed, or physical dexterity that great things are achieved, but by reflection, force of character, and judgement; and in these qualities old age is usually not only not poorer, but is even richer.” If so, perhaps this is discriminatory thinking on my part. After all, how old is “too old”?

The Army has a maximum enlistment age of 39, and draws the line for active service at age 62. Pilots must retire by age 66. The average retirement age for NBA players is mid to late thirties, but following LeBron’s 46-point playoff performance this week at age 33, I’m glad he’s sticking around for a while.

Yet what I’ve discovered is that it’s illegal to require retirement based on age in most professions. Under the Age Discrimination in Employment Act, mandatory retirement is not allowed unless there is a Bona Fide Occupational Qualification (like a pilot or air traffic controller) or the individual is 65 and a “Bona Fide Executive” or in a “High Policymaking Position.” Hmm.

Of course, we all know some amazing “older adults.” Ashland’s own Dr. Lucille Ford is the perfect example. When she retired from her position as Provost at Ashland University, she went back to school and earned a degree in pastoral counseling. Then she founded the Ashland County Community Foundation, where she served for seventeen years. Now in her nineties, she remains active and well-read, and she’s just been inducted into the Ohio Foundation of Independent Colleges’ Hall of Excellence. Amazing.

Yet what I know about myself is that in my 60s, I’m beginning to feel my age. My energy is waning, my reactions are slowing down, and I don’t have the energy I had at 30 or even 50. My anti-discriminatory mind says age shouldn’t matter, but my gut tells me it does. It may not be fair, but sometimes life isn’t fair. 

Consider the story of hijab-wearing basketball player Bilqis Abdul-Qaadir. A college star, upon graduation she was faced with an International Basketball Federation ban on head-coverings on the basketball court. She chose to fight that rule rather than give up her religious commitment. But by the time it was finally overturned, ‘it was too late for her to go pro,” NPR reports. Instead, at twenty-seven, “Abdul-Qaadir is now using her skills to teach the next generation how to play.” 

Sometimes it’s just too late, and the window of opportunity closes. The question for 2020 is, when is it time to graciously step aside and make room for the next generations?