When did the young get younger?

Warning: The following column mentions politicians. Don't be alarmed. Sometimes you just can't help it. So go ahead and crunch your Post Toasties in good health.

When Bill Clinton was elected in 1992, I experienced an odd sensation, one that I'm sure each of you has felt in your own way.

Bill Clinton was the first president of the United States to be born after I was.

There are all sorts of aging mileposts along life's way, but I don't think any of them amplify your biological clock like realizing important people are, in fact, mere youngsters.

Many of you know what I'm talking about, particularly if you've had to change doctors recently. I don't know about you, but in my day a doctor had to go to school until he was gray-haired and had creases in his face. Nowadays, they give medical licenses to young men and women who just yesterday were college freshmen -- maybe high school seniors.

At least that's what I thought until I was invited to speak to a group of teachers at one of our fine high schools. When I showed up for our scheduled meeting, the nice woman at the school office directed me to the library, where a sizable group of students was also waiting for the teachers to arrive. It dawned on me after a few minutes that these were the teachers.

Yes, there are still some old politicians -- look at all the hubbub over the birthday party for our nation's first and only centenarian senator. But somewhere along the way the age limit for holding public office must have been lowered to the preteen years. How else to account for faces that have yet to feel a razor in our city halls and statehouses? In my day, at least, politicians shaved.

I hadn't thought about Bill Clinton's age for quite a while. But I was reminded of it when I heard that Missouri's secretary of state, Matt Blunt, is thinking about running for governor in a couple of years. As it turned out, he showed up last week for a chat, and I couldn't stop thinking about how this youthful-looking fellow seemed to know his beans no matter what I asked about.

Finally, I just point-blank said: How old are you?

His answer gave me a jolt similar to the one I had when I realized our nation's commander in chief was my junior. Only this time I realized our next governor might be younger than our older son.

Blunt, sensing that the youth card might be a factor in his bid for the Executive Mansion, quickly pointed out that, if elected, he would be Missouri's second-youngest governor.

I looked at him quizzically. Second-youngest? I couldn't remember anyone younger.

Indeed, Kit Bond was younger -- the youngest -- when he first took office in 1973.

Now take a trip in my time machine back to my high school days. What the little high school in my favorite hometown lacked in size it made up in inspiration. I -- and my classmates -- were fortunate to have pushy teachers who believed we should aspire to our fullest potential. We were told over and over again -- and not just at commencement -- that we were tomorrow's leaders and that one day one of us might well be governor of this state.

To tell you the truth, that scared the you-know-what out of me. Not because I didn't think I was up to the task, but because I didn't think any of us were. I vividly recall looking around the room during a biology class where we had just heard the "You are the future" lecture and wondering who in the heck out of this group could ever be governor.

Since then, I've enjoyed watching men and women I know become congressmen, federal judges, corporate CEOs, bishops and ambassadors. I'm proud of them.

But you know what? I'm proudest of my classmates who became teachers. I know they continue to inspire today's student to be tomorrow's governor.

I'll just bet Matt Blunt was fortunate to have one of those teachers along the way.

R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.