I am the oldest person here, the youngest person here. I am the only woman here.
I am the only woman over 40 at a technology Meetup event. (OK, over 50, but I’m still the only woman over 40.) My white hair will stand out, slightly overexposed, when somebody posts photos on the website tomorrow.
The younger people look at me, baffled, amused. I have a Twitter account, a Google+ account, but I am so over Facebook. No, I never had an AOL account.
Or I am at a literary event or museum exhibit where I am one of the youngest people present, hardly the only woman, maybe the only person who pulls out a tablet computer to take a photo, jot down notes, even send a tweet (if there’s wi-fi).
I have a bachelor’s degree in English. In my senior year I started writing term papers on a computer. It was a terminal connected to a mainframe and the Comp Sci majors—all but one male—who worked in the computer center refused to speak to me because I was “wasting” computer time doing word processing. (Wonder how many of them now work for media websites?)
I refuse to let the young people have all the fun. Just because I was born before the personal computer became ubiquitous. Unlike them, I remember the first time I put my hands on a computer: I was 17, visiting a college as a prospective student.
In a city of 7 million people aren’t we all a minority? We find a small tribe of people like ourselves, or we strike out to mingle among those unlike ourselves.
I am the latter, a minority by choice, unwilling to wait at the door until somebody else who looks like me goes in first.