Not One of Us

I had an odd moment last season on the set of Friday Night Lights. Well, actually a few odd moments, but this particular odd moment involved my perceived age. Standing amongst a group of fellow extras while we waited to enter a scene that portrayed high school seniors with their parents at a celebration brunch, I was paired off with a TV-husband and TV-daughter. My TV-daughter was only eight years younger than I am in real life, but whatever, since we would likely be out-of-focus background blurs on the show. A group of the other TV-parents asked me my age. When I replied I was thirty-six, a few people stepped in for a closer inspection, scrutinizing my face and figure. One lady told me that I looked like I was in my twenties. (If only...) I laughed and extolled the virtues of getting proper sleep and wearing sunscreen. More fellow-extras started approaching me and formed a loose semi-circle around me. All of them staring at me. The experience was a bit unnerving. I said a silent prayer that these people not suddenly produce pitch-forks and torches and start dunking me in water to see if I floated or sank with my suspected age-hiding witchcraft.

I shared this anecdote with Chad recently. He wanted to know if the crowd started chanting "not one of us" in zombie monotone. They did not, but I think it was implied.

Friday Night Lights started filming its fourth season this week. I got an email for extra opportunities, and noticed they've raised the minimum age of booster parents from thirty-five to thirty-seven. Fine. See you in five weeks. Five more weeks of getting ample sleep and wearing sunscreen.

I maintain that I could be the mom of a high school student if I had the baby when I was young or if I was one in a long line of newer model step mothers.