That half year

When a child is young her/his parents will often refer to her/him as being “three-and-a-half years old” or “six and a half” or whatever is the correct age. Somehow in those circumstances that half year seems important to more accurately convey the message more correctly and [perhaps] to benefit the junior ego which is often present.

By the time a person is in her/his teens this mention of partial years seems less important, except to stress an upcoming major event. [“Mary is fifteen-and-three-quarters and waiting to take the driving test.”]

I noticed an obit in today’s paper for a woman who was “98 and a half.” I did not know the woman and I wish her family and friends well, but I wonder why they felt the need to list the half year.

Was it to minimize any confusion people might have with another woman of the same age who was only 98? Was the half year something that the deceased had taken great pride in attaining? Was the funeral director or the newspaper person who handled it trying to make it just a little longer in hope of getting a larger fee?

I’m just wondering.

I shuddered a bit the last time I had to add a whole new year to my age. There have already been plenty of them. I am not ashamed of age [I have even referred to myself as a “sexagenarian” on my profile here], but I don’t especially revel in the number.

Or maybe the deceased used to feel that aging herself half a year at a time made aging seem that less drastic.

Whatever the deal, as I said above, I do wish her family and friends well. But it does give me something to think about.