"Aren't you too young to be a reporter?"
"What high school newspaper do you write for, honey?""I'll bet you have a hard time getting people to take you seriously."
My mother keeps telling me I should be flattered, not offended, when people comment on how young I look.
"You'll be grateful to lose five years when you're my age," she's fond of saying. "People used to say the same things to me, and I miss it."
Maybe she's right, but I'm not so sure. (She offered similar assurances to me when I was 17, and it may be the only time, but she was wrong on that.)
People mistaking me as much younger than I am didn't bother me until I started working at the Deseret News in 1991. I was 22, and it seemed part of my daily routine that someone would question or make comments about my age.
I've even had the humiliating experience of having several sources bet on how old I was, and the really sad part is that no one even came close.
And the former police chief who said he thought people might not take me seriously because I look so young? He was right.
Every reporter knows, being taken seriously is essential to doing the job. Maybe every young reporter has similar experiences, but I feel like I have to work overtime to earn the respect of my sources and colleagues.
I've often wondered why age alone commands respect. I'm more than willing to earn the respect of my colleagues and sources, but I assumed everyone else had to do the same - regardless of age.
Blame my naive assumption on my age, everyone else does.
I've begun to think that "hon" and "sweetie" are synonyms for my name. I've given up trying to correct people, I just answer. It's easier.
I thought if I wore more make up, or changed my hair, I might look a couple of years older. No such luck. I cut my long hair into a short bob and everyone said I looked even younger.
I thought after having my first baby, at age 25, I might look more matronly, a word my mother often uses to describe herself. Instead, it was almost a year of hearing, "Aren't you kind of young to be having a baby?"
One woman insisted on knowing how old I was because I couldn't be older than her daughter who was still in high school.
It got so bad, I considered wearing a sign that said, "I'm old enough to have several babies, so don't ask!"
I've endured some embarrassing comments from my sources, but some of my more serious problems have been with other reporters. One colleague told me I could have a valid opinion when I'd made it past puberty.
Another told me I didn't deserve to be taken seriously until I was older. How old do you have to be to be a real person, to be allowed to have an opinion, and what if I look young for another 10 years?
I know that stacked up against some other problems, looking "too" young seems minor. But just like other forms of stereotyping, it can hurt.
And for a society that values youth and spends a lot of money trying to hold onto it, we ought to take a good, long look at how we treat our young people.