"Do not allow haughtiness to take you in possession," Pavlov advises the young scientist. But I'm middle-aged, not always a scientist, and if haughty can include those who draw incessantly on their own experience, I am that . I hope also that I'll be pardoned for taking in possession here the topic of my professorship in a college of education. As it happens, my subfield within educational administration — the politics of education — has all the vibrancy of a young adult; as a distinct area for specialization, it 's hardly 21 years old, and those of us in it seem to be getting old together with many things that we can never have again, like the shock of altogether new analyses or methodologies. This matter of age was brought home to me recently when I doddered into my fifties. Instead of starting my second half-century lovably and graciously, I found myself giving fiercely impossible "pop" exams, denying worth in others' community activities, pooh-poohing the research of certain others, and generally trying to devastate my targets. Those I lambasted were all considerably younger and, in one form or another, would be working effectively well after I'm gone. Before long, however, I stopped worrying about displacement by young rivals, an amiable support for the next generation returned, and I became more nostalgic than nettled about my relatively advanced stage of life. It was then that I started realizing that if the educator's tasks of his or her twenties through forties is to become established in the profession, the gray challenge by 50 is resignation. Thus I need to give up the last remnants of wishes for omnipotence; I need to gain a realistic perspective on my "place," however large or small that might be. Psychologists say that middle-agers like myself can be at a crisis point of growth or of regression. Regression can lead to no longer worrying about improving one's students, to wresting community power as reassurance against dread of waning capacity, or to crabbing research innovation if it does not spring from the self. Growth in teaching, on the other hand, can mean doing things well that one can do well — until one might take on greater things. Growth can mean pitching in more democratically in civic services, as opposed to being manipulative. And growth in research can mean realizing that even though one's conceptual and empirical capacities are quite finite, one still can hope ultimately to produce a modest study of worth. If with middle-aged fogeyism, one is resigned to such limits, one might flower into personal, social, and professional maturity — which is akin to wisdom.