The other day, a friend-of-a-friend on Facebook posed a
question: If given the opportunity to forever be an age you choose (not a time,
but a physical age), what age would you choose, and why? There were thousands
of answers. Apparently, this is a subject we all have opinions about. A lot of
men thought seventeen was the perfect age, because that’s when they’d earned
their driver’s licenses. Several women chose 21, because they’d felt the most
attractive at that age. Older people were more likely to select forties or
fifties, when their health was better than today. Not me. If given the choice,
I’d be ten forever. When I was ten, I could ride a bike, run like the wind, do cartwheels, and
pull myself into a handstand. I ate whatever I liked without consequences.
I didn’t pay taxes, didn’t have a mortgage, and no one could make me do
anything I didn’t want to do: the perfect age.
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