Why does everyone around me suddenly seem so young?

I feel a lot like this white-haired guy each time I announce a baseball game.

Recently I was chatting with some of my Lake County Captains co-workers. (I say "co-workers," though it should be noted I'm not a full-time employee of the team. I'm just there on most game days to serve as the public address announcer.)

Jack, who directs game operations and is my boss, was celebrating his 25th birthday. He was born in 2001, about five months before September 11th. One of two young women in our conversation mentioned that Jack was "a pre-9/11 baby," while they were both born in the months after 9/11.

I casually noted that I was nearly 32 years old on September 11th, 2001, had been married for nine years at that point, and already had four kids and a mortgage. Which they all thought was pretty funny.

I did, too, though my laugh was a somewhat half-hearted one as I realized how often this sort of thing happens.

As you enter the later stages of your career, you find yourself with increasing frequency to be the oldest person in the room. You look around and think, "I literally have a pair of jeans older than him."

Which is somewhat jarring, though I still manage to find the humor in it. Even the absurdity.

Those three kids on the Captains staff have lived in parts of three decades. Me? I've touched seven decades, having been born in late 1969.

The great thing is, they don't treat me like the old guy. I get the same in-game feedback they get whether I do something well or I screw it up.

That is, of course, how it should be.

I will also say this: The young people working for this minor-league baseball team are impressive. They're smart, driven, and focused on delivering the best experience possible for the fans in attendance. I learn something from them every game.

I also like to think they learn something from me, though often that "something" is only the name of a random 80s song playing through the ballpark sound system.

Hey, if I have to be the most chronologically gifted person on the game day staff, so be it. I'll crank up the hearing aids, polish my cane, and do my best not to worry about the fact that almost none of my co-workers were around when Ronald Reagan was president.

Or George H.W. Bush.

Or Bill Clinton, for that matter.

Sigh.