When asked my age, I have always told my students I was 103. Some of them believe me. Others get it.
A few years ago, I was surprised on my birthday by a large Clifford the Big Red Dog card that was made and delivered by my next-classroom-neighbors, the grade ones and their teacher. The grade ones asked me how old I was and my grade two students chorused, "103". Then one bright little character said, "No, it's her birthday so she's 104!"
I started a new Heritage unit in Social Studies yesterday. I began by explaining to the kids that we were going to find out what childhood life in Saskatchewan was like around 1900 and we would be comparing the lives of First Nations/Metis, pioneers, and Victorian children to their own lives now in 2007. A couple of the little scamps mused, "Hmm, if you're 103 you would almost have been around then." I burst out laughing and promptly confessed my real age. One little girl said, "You're still pretty young. My grandma is older than you."