By WILL GRAVES, AP National Writer

PITTSBURGH (AP) — Andrew McCutchen hasn’t had the conversation with 7-year-old son Steel yet, but the Pittsburgh Pirates star knows it’s probably coming at some point.

Steel, already playing in a youth baseball league, will probably come home at one point and ask his five-time All-Star father if he can have whatever hot item his teammates might be wearing during a given spring.

McCutchen plans to accommodate Steel up to a point. The oldest of McCutchen’s four children is already rocking an arm sleeve, just the way dad does.

Yet if Steel is hoping his father will spring for a sliding mitt — a padded glove a player can slip over one of their hands to protect it should the hand get stepped on while diving headfirst for a base — he probably shouldn’t get his hopes up.

McCutchen, who has stolen 220 bases at the major league level, has never worn one. And he’s quick to point out the next time the cleat of a fielder mashes his hand will also be the first.

Still, the 38-year-old understands. Once upon a time, he was a 20-something who epitomized baseball cool, from his dreadlocks (long since shorn) to his goatee to his rope chain to the occasional skull cap he wore underneath his batting helmet, all of it designed to accentuate McCutchen’s innate blend of talent and charisma.

“It’s all about the drip,” McCutchen said with a smile.

Even if the “drip” (Gen Z slang for stylish clothes and their accessories) emphasizes fashion over function, particularly when it comes to the gloves — which look a bit like oven mitts — that are becoming just as ubiquitous in the Little Leagues as they are in the major leagues.

FILE – Chicago White Sox’s Scott Podsednik steals second base during a baseball game against the Cleveland Indians, June 29, 2009, in Cleveland. (AP Photo/Mark Duncan, File)

Safety and self-expression

Former major leaguer Scott Podsednik (career stolen base total: 309) is credited with “inventing” the sliding mitt during the late stages of his 11-year career.

Tired of having his hand stepped on, Podsednik worked with a hand therapist for a solution. The initial mitts were relatively simple. A 2009 picture of Podsednik sliding into second base shows his left hand covered in what looks like a padded modified batting glove, all wrapped in black to match the trim on his Chicago White Sox uniform.

Things have gotten considerably more intricate over the years. Google “sliding mitt designs” and you’ll find themes ranging from the American flag to an ice cream cone to aliens to a poop emoji ( yes, really ).

Scott McMillen, a lawyer in the Chicago area, had no plans to get into the baseball accessory business. He first took notice of sliding mitts when his son Braydon, then 10, pointed out one of his teammates had one and said basically, “Oh hey dad, wouldn’t it be nice if I had one, too.”

They headed to a local sporting goods store, where McMillen was surprised at the variety available.

That was around 2021. By early 2024, McMillen had launched “ Goat’d,” a specialty baseball accessory company with everything from sliding mitts to batting gloves to arm sleeves to headbands and more, many of them religiously inspired.

Sales during their first full year? Over 1 million units.

“We were surprised at how large the marketplace is,” McMillen said.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been.

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Youth sports have bounced back from the COVID-19 pandemic. The Aspen Institute’s 2024 State of Play report noted that the participation levels in sports among children ages 6-17 were the highest they’ve been since 2015. Baseball’s numbers have steadied following a decline. Little League International told The Associated Press last fall that more than 2 million kids played baseball or softball under its umbrella across the world, an uptick over 2019.

Many of those kids are also fans of the game, some of whom may have noticed their favorite major leaguer sporting a mitt when they’re on the bases. Yes, that was San Diego Padres star Fernando Tatis Jr. sliding across home plate ( feetfirst, by the way ) with a bright yellow mitt on his left hand in the ninth inning of a 2-1 win over Pittsburgh last weekend.

It’s one of the many ways in which the game has evolved over the years. When McMillen grew up, there wasn’t much swag to go around.

“We had our baseball uniform and our glove (and) everyone looked the same, everyone was the same,” he said. “Now, everyone wants to express themselves individually. The best way to do that without acting like a clown is to wear something that shows people who you are.”

Self-expression, however, doesn’t exactly come cheap, particularly in an era when top-of-the-line bats are $400 or more. What amounts to an entry-level sliding mitt can go for $40, but Goat’d and others have versions that can fetch double that.

That hasn’t stopped sales from being brisk, and McMillen points out it’s not merely a luxury item.

“We don’t play football with 1940s safety equipment,” he said. “You feel better in the (batter’s) box when you have something that protects you, right? With a sliding mitt, it’s also like, ‘Hey this is fun. It’s cool. I want to be like my fave high school player, like my favorite college player.’”

It’s becoming increasingly common for McMillen and other members of the company’s staff to spot Goat’d gear at the field. In recent months, they’ve popped up in youth tournaments from Georgia to Las Vegas, sometimes in the back pockets of players as young as 6 or 7. McMillen can’t help but shake his head to see his product become part of the time-honored tradition of kids imitating their heroes.

Which is good for business and, oh by the way, probably unnecessary.

The pressure to keep up

Here’s the thing: In most — if not all — youth baseball leagues, headfirst slides that would require a player to stretch out their hand to secure the bag are illegal.

In Little League, for example, stealing bases for players 12 and under is rare because the player can take off only after the ball has reached the batter. And even if they do bolt for the next base, they have to slide feetfirst. The only times in Little League that a baserunner can dive headfirst toward a base is when they are returning to it while in a rundown or during a pickoff attempt, both of which are also rare.

That doesn’t stop the players from wanting a sliding mitt. It also doesn’t stop their parents from buying them, all part of the pressure to “keep up with the Jones” that has practically been a part of youth sports culture since the first time somebody came to practice with a batting glove or wristbands.

It’s a phenomenon Chelsea Cahill and her family has known for years. The longtime educator who lives just east of Columbus, Ohio, has spent most of the last decade shuttling her three boys from practice to games to tournaments.

What she and her husband have learned over the years is that some trends come and go, but the pressure to have the right stuff remains.

“There’s always that feeling of ‘This is the next new thing’ or ‘This is what you’ve got to get,’” Cahill said.

They appeased their sons up to a point, but only up to a point.

Last summer their youngest son Braxton, then 11, and the rest of the kids on his travel team kept pestering their parents to buy sliding mitts. Entering the final tournament, the team moms decided to give in.

Sort of.

Rather than plop down that kind of money for something they didn’t actually need, the moms headed to a local dollar store and bought them actual oven mitts — the kind used to pull tonight’s dinner from out of the oven. Average retail price? Less than a cup of coffee at the gas station.

Oh, and the kids loved them, and wore them during the game. Cahill posted video of them playing with the mitts stuck in their back pocket to her TikTok account. The video is now at 12 million views and counting.

“They thought it was hilarious, but we didn’t really think they would wear them for the rest of the tournament,” Cahill said. “We were wrong. They really embraced it!”

Among viewers of that TikTok, by the way, were the people at Goat’d, who sent Braxton a couple of mitts as a result.

The good news is, Cahill now won’t have to buy one for Braxton this spring. Yet there’s also something else she has learned through the years: This time in her boys’ lives is fleeting.

For proof, just look at her calendar. Her two older sons — the ones who played travel baseball just like Braxton, and asked for all the cool stuff their teammates had, just like Braxton has — gave up baseball by the time they got to high school.

Her advice to parents who might be feeling the financial pinch of what it takes to play these days: Relax.

“We’ve learned as parents is to stop taking it so seriously,” she said. “They’re kids. Let them have fun.”

San Diego Padres’ Fernando Tatis Jr., left, scores before Pittsburgh Pirates catcher Joey Bart can apply the tag on a wild pitch by pitcher David Bednar during the ninth inning of a baseball game in Pittsburgh, Saturday, May 3, 2025. (AP Photo/Gene J. Puskar)

The reality

A day after hundreds of members of the Monroeville Baseball and Softball Association marched through the Pittsburgh suburb’s well-appointed community park, the regular season is in full swing.

All four fields are alive with the chatter of coaches, parents and boys and girls aged anywhere from 5-12.

Over on Field 1, the Rays are in the middle of their season opener. Playing first base, Josiah Jones has his glove at the ready, with a black sliding mitt noticeably sticking out of his left back pocket.

Per the league rules, the Rays and the other players at the “Bronco” level (ages 11-12), play actual full-on baseball. They can take leads and steal bases whenever they like, though headfirst slides are only allowed when returning to a base, just like in Little League.

Longtime MBSA executive commissioner Josh Plassmeyer is milling about, trying to keep tabs on everything. Plassmeyer outlawed sliding mitts on his son Grant’s 10-and-under tournament team, calling them a “distraction” because players would spend so much time fiddling with them once they got to first base, they would miss signs from the third-base coach.

About 50 feet away, Jones settles into the box and rips a ball to left-center field. His long legs carry him past first base, and he cruises into second with an easy double.

As his teammates erupted in the dugout, Jones beamed for a brief moment. Then, as the opposing pitcher stepped onto the rubber, he took an aggressive lead off second and eyed third.

His back pocket, the one where his sliding mitt had been 30 minutes before, was empty.

By JOSH JACQUOT, Edmunds

New car prices continue to rise for the latest high-performance sports cars. Even a new Chevrolet Corvette, long considered a performance bargain compared to the likes of the Porsche 911, has a starting price of almost $70,000. But that doesn’t mean driving enthusiasts on a budget can’t find a car that’s both fulfilling to drive and genuinely capable.

The auto experts at Edmunds have come up with their five favorite performance vehicles for under $35,000. True, you won’t be able to buy anything with a V8. The same applies to electric power — the best-value electric performers cost more. But the vehicles listed here have other distinct advantages. All of the following prices include destination fees.

Dodge Hornet GT

There’s some irony in the first vehicle in a list of budget-performance cars not being a car at all. But Dodge’s Hornet isn’t your usual small SUV. First off, it has an Italian heritage. Though you wouldn’t know it by its styling, the Hornet shares much of its mechanical design with the Alfa Romeo Tonale small luxury SUV. Second, it’s genuinely powerful for a pint-size SUV. The GT version has a turbocharged four-cylinder engine that cranks out 268 horsepower and is good enough to get you from 0 to 60 mph in about 6.5 seconds. Another bonus: It has standard all-wheel drive for all-season driving and more cargo space than the typical performance car.

2025 Hornet starting price: $31,590

This photo provided by Edmunds shows the 2025 Mustang. Buying an entry-level Mustang EcoBoost is an inexpensive way to get behind the wheel of an American icon. (Courtesy of Edmunds via AP)

Ford Mustang EcoBoost

A Ford Mustang GT with its rumbly V8 is well beyond our $35,000 price cap. But the less expensive Ford Mustang EcoBoost is a viable substitute. Having a turbocharged four-cylinder under the hood might seem like heresy, but you can’t argue with the output of 315 horsepower and 350 lb-ft of torque. With its 10-speed automatic spinning the rear wheels, the Mustang EcoBoost can sprint from 0 to 60 mph in a quick 5.6 seconds. The newest Mustang provides a classic American driving experience while being comfortable, stylish and well equipped with the latest technology features.

2025 Mustang coupe starting price: $33,515

This photo provided by Mazda shows the 2025 MX-5 Miata. The Mazda MX-5 Miata is a roadster that not only offers a fun driving experience without sacrificing fuel efficiency but is also affordable. (Courtesy of Mazda North American Operations via AP)

Mazda MX-5 Miata

You’re as likely to see a Mazda MX-5 Miata roadster in the hands of a cool-headed retiree on lonesome canyon roads as you are spotting one ripping through cones at an autocross. In both cases, the Miata’s appeal comes down to the fun-to-drive fundamentals. A four-cylinder engine directs 181 horsepower to the rear wheels through either a six-speed manual or automatic transmission. That’s not much, but you don’t need much when the car is as light as the Miata. A manual-equipped Miata went from 0 to 60 mph in 6.4 seconds at the Edmunds test track. Beyond the numbers, the Miata is all about playfulness. Quick steering, nimble handling and an easy-to-lower top combine to make any drive worthwhile.

2025 MX-5 Miata starting price: $30,715

This photo provided by Toyota shows the GR86. The GR86 is a textbook example of a fun, reasonably priced sport coupe. (Courtesy of Toyota Motor Sales U.S.A. via AP)

Subaru BRZ and Toyota GR86

The Subaru BRZ and Toyota 86 are mechanically related. Both use a four-cylinder rated at 228 horsepower that sends its power to the rear wheels through a six-speed manual or a six-speed automatic transmission. Edmunds found these cars can sprint to 60 mph in about 6 seconds when equipped with the manual. There’s enough power to be entertaining but not enough to get a new driver in too much trouble, making these fantastic beginner’s sports cars. And there’s a low center of gravity and classic rear-wheel-drive balance to help drivers enjoyably learn about car control. But the Toyabaru twins don’t stop being fun once you master them.

2025 Toyota GR86 starting price: $31,135; 2025 Subaru BRZ starting price: $32,380

This photo provided by Volkswagen shows the 2025 Golf GTI. The GTI is fun to drive and has a hatchback design that’s great for everyday practicality. (Courtesy of Volkswagen of America via AP)

Volkswagen GTI

The Volkswagen GTI is the quintessential budget performance hatchback. It’s fun and engaging to drive yet practical and comfortable day to day. Few cars can do as many things as well as the GTI. Its turbocharged four-cylinder engine produces 241 horsepower. For 2025, every GTI has a seven-speed automatic transmission and front-wheel drive. Edmunds has found it’s good for a 5.9-second 0-60 mph sprint. Besides performance, the GTI has a spacious cabin and a generous cargo area for its size. The original hot hatch that traces its American lineage all the way back to 1983 is a solid performance value.

Starting manufacturer’s suggested retail price: $33,640

Edmunds says

Spending less than $35,000 can get you a fun vehicle to drive in 2025. Each model here has distinct advantages. You’ll likely prefer the Hornet or Golf GTI if space and practicality are priorities. The Miata, BRZ and GR86 all provide a great feel and connection to the road; picking one of these comes down to whether you want a convertible top or the extra security of a coupe. The Mustang can’t be beat for its classic pony car styling and heritage.

This story was provided to The Associated Press by the automotive website Edmunds. Josh Jacquot is a contributor at Edmunds.

By Alex Brown, Stateline.org (TNS)

For years, outdoors enthusiasts in New Mexico have pushed to overhaul the state Department of Game & Fish — an agency plagued by leadership turnover, funding woes and the scorn of hunters and tree-huggers alike.

Now, state lawmakers have given the agency a new name, a new mission, new leadership and a boost in funding to expand its role. The sweeping law enacted in March puts New Mexico at the forefront of a growing movement to rethink states’ traditional model of wildlife management.

“We came from a place of extreme dysfunction,” said Jesse Deubel, executive director of the New Mexico Wildlife Federation, an environmental nonprofit that advocated for the new law. “Now, I truly do believe that we’re going to be a gold standard for wildlife management. Over the next few years. you’re going to see an unbelievable shift.”

New Mexico’s new approach expands the agency’s focus beyond hunting and fishing to protect more species and brings in new funding to reduce its reliance on license sales. Other states are watching closely. Lawmakers across the country have introduced bills to change their wildlife agencies, and many have cited the New Mexico measure as an example of what’s possible.

“That’s the biggest game changer,” said Michelle Lute, executive director of Wildlife for All, a national nonprofit focused on overhauling states’ wildlife governance. “That’s the legislation we’ll be pointing to as a model in future years.”

From Oregon to Utah to Florida, legislators have introduced bills that would overhaul their wildlife agencies’ funding, mission and governance.

While the proposals have had varying levels of success, New Mexico leaders say it took years of coalition-building to get their bill across the finish line. Wildlife advocates expect the issue to earn more legislative attention nationwide in the years to come.

Under the traditional model, state wildlife agencies have largely been funded by the license fees paid by hunters and anglers, plus federal excise taxes on equipment such as guns and fishing tackle. The agencies have focused most of their work on species like deer and trout, prized by the sporting groups that provide their revenue.

In New Mexico, as in most states, the commissions that govern these departments have been appointed by governors. They’re often filled by hunting and fishing guides, ranchers and political donors. Critics say this model results in panels that set policy to protect their economic interests.

Today, many wildlife agencies are struggling to stay afloat as fewer and fewer residents hunt and fish. At the same time, plummeting wildlife populations are compelling agencies to expand their work beyond traditional “game” species. And some wildlife advocates are demanding a new governance model that puts more scientists in charge.

This year, state lawmakers across the country have passed or considered a host of major wildlife management overhauls. Some would expand their agencies’ mission to focus on non-game species. Others would provide new funding streams to take on that additional work. And some would change the makeup of the commissions that dictate wildlife policy.

In New Mexico, lawmakers did all three at once.

The state’s agency had faced numerous problems over the years. Hunters and bird-watchers alike were frustrated with the agency’s leadership. In recent years, several commissioners have resigned or been forced out by Democratic Gov. Michelle Lujan Grisham. At times, the panel has lacked enough members to form a quorum.

The agency’s budget was in trouble as well. The state had not raised license fees in nearly 20 years, keeping revenue flat even as inflation made the cost of its work more and more expensive.

“We were having to repurpose money from on-the-ground conservation just to make salary adjustments,” said Stewart Liley, wildlife division chief with the New Mexico Department of Game & Fish. “We were getting to a precarious spot.”

In 2023, lawmakers passed a bill to restructure the agency’s commission, which would have taken some power away from the governor. Lujan Grisham declined to sign the bill, killing the effort with a pocket veto.

This year, lawmakers took a bigger swing. The package passed this session renames the Department of Game & Fish to the Department of Wildlife. It expands the agency’s authority to protect non-game species in need of conservation help.

“We wanted to make it clear that this is our state wildlife agency, and it’s the only one we’ve got,” said Deubel, of the New Mexico Wildlife Federation. “They’ve got a responsibility to work on any species in the state that has conservation need.”

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Agency leaders say they were already conducting research and conservation work for non-game species. They viewed that aspect of the bill as a largely symbolic measure that “shined a light” on the need for more restoration work, Liley said. However, the law did provide more explicit authority for the agency to manage insects and regulate the direct “take,” or killing, of certain animals.

The measure raises license fees — a provision supported by many hunting and fishing groups — and allows for inflation-based adjustments in future years. Meanwhile, lawmakers included another $10.5 million from the state budget, spread over three years, to help the agency take on more non-game conservation.

“It seemed only fair that if we were going to ask the department to take on a broader role that they not finance that just through hunting and fishing,” said Democratic state Rep. Matthew McQueen, who was among the key sponsors.

Liley, the agency official, said the new money, along with a separate conservation fund established in 2023, will more than double the state’s investment in helping threatened species. The agency expects to hire up to eight new biologists who will conduct research, determine which species need aid and lead restoration efforts.

“This will help us get a better grasp of where we are with different species across the state,” he said. “There are absolutely projects we have not undertaken because of lack of capacity. This will allow us to do more surveys, to radio-mark birds, to [use that research] and say, ‘Let’s do forest restoration this way for pinyon jays.’”

The package will also change the agency’s governance. The current commission has seven seats, all appointed by the governor. Lujan Grisham’s appointees have included a car dealer, an Exxon Mobil lobbyist and a former lawmaker who owns an oil and gas business.

Under the new model, a bipartisan legislative committee will nominate three candidates for every seat, each of whom must be vetted to demonstrate their knowledge of wildlife. The governor must choose from among those three. One of the seats will be reserved for a wildlife scientist, one for a conservationist, one for a hunter and angler and one for a rancher or farmer.

“These changes add expertise and really important perspectives to the commission,” said Chris Smith, wildlife program director with WildEarth Guardians, an environmental nonprofit. “Our [current] commission was having structural problems and light scandal almost consistently.”

Backers’ one disappointment is that Lujan Grisham used a partial veto to strike a provision that would have protected commission members from dismissal by the governor. She argued that the proposed change relied too heavily on the slow-moving court system to remove commissioners, making it difficult to hold problematic members accountable.

Lawmakers say they’re still intent on protecting agency leaders from the governor’s whims, but pleased the rest of the package has gone into effect. While the measure passed with bipartisan majorities, some lawmakers objected to the idea of expanding the agency’s mission to protect species beyond those that can be hunted.

“With all due respect, I don’t want to pay for a butterfly,” said Republican state Rep. Harlan Vincent, according to KUNM. “I’m just being honest with you.”

And some groups are skeptical that the extra funding from the state budget will be enough to cover the agency’s growing conservation role.

“If New Mexico wants to expand the mission of the department, New Mexico needs to pay for it,” Tom Paterson, president-elect of the New Mexico Cattle Growers’ Association, said during a Senate committee hearing. “The necessary funds should not come on the back of the license fees that hunters and anglers pay.”

While the agency’s new funding and mission are now in place, its name change to the Department of Wildlife won’t take effect until next year. And its current commission will remain in office until Jan. 1, 2027. Lujan Grisham’s successor will then appoint new commissioners under the revised model.

The advocates who backed the New Mexico overhaul say it will take time and investment to make the new model work. They know other states will be watching closely.

Stateline reporter Alex Brown can be reached at abrown@stateline.org.

By Paula Span, KFF Health News

A prime example of elderspeak: Cindy Smith was visiting her father in his assisted living apartment in Roseville, California. An aide who was trying to induce him to do something —  Smith no longer remembers exactly what — said, “Let me help you, sweetheart.”

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“He just gave her The Look — under his bushy eyebrows — and said, ‘What, are we getting married?’” recalled Smith, who had a good laugh, she said. Her father was then 92, a retired county planner and a World War II veteran; macular degeneration had reduced the quality of his vision, and he used a walker to get around, but he remained cognitively sharp.

“He wouldn’t normally get too frosty with people,” Smith said. “But he did have the sense that he was a grown-up and he wasn’t always treated like one.”

People understand almost intuitively what “elderspeak” means. “It’s communication to older adults that sounds like baby talk,” said Clarissa Shaw, a dementia care researcher at the University of Iowa College of Nursing and a co-author of a recent article that helps researchers document its use.

“It arises from an ageist assumption of frailty, incompetence, and dependence.”

Its elements include inappropriate endearments. “Elderspeak can be controlling, kind of bossy, so to soften that message there’s ‘honey,’ ‘dearie,’ ‘sweetie,’” said Kristine Williams, a nurse gerontologist at the University of Kansas School of Nursing and another co-author of the article.

“We have negative stereotypes of older adults, so we change the way we talk.”

Or caregivers may resort to plural pronouns: Are we ready to take our bath? There, the implication “is that the person’s not able to act as an individual,” Williams said. “Hopefully, I’m not taking the bath with you.”

Sometimes, elderspeakers employ a louder volume, shorter sentences, or simple words intoned slowly. Or they may adopt an exaggerated, singsong vocal quality more suited to preschoolers, along with words like “potty” or “jammies.”

With what are known as tag questions — It’s time for you to eat lunch now, right? — “You’re asking them a question but you’re not letting them respond,” Williams explained. “You’re telling them how to respond.”

Studies in nursing homes show how commonplace such speech is. When Williams, Shaw, and their team analyzed video recordings of 80 interactions between staff and residents with dementia, they found that 84% involved some form of elderspeak.

“Most of elderspeak is well intended. People are trying to show they care,” Williams said. “They don’t realize the negative messages that come through.”

For example, among nursing home residents with dementia, studies have found a relationship between exposure to elderspeak and behaviors collectively known as resistance to care.

“People can turn away or cry or say no,” Williams explained. “They may clench their mouths shut when you’re trying to feed them.” Sometimes, they push caregivers away or strike them.

She and her team developed a training program called CHAT, for Changing Talk: three hourlong sessions that include videos of communication between staff members and patients, intended to reduce elderspeak.

It worked. Before the training, in 13 nursing homes in Kansas and Missouri, almost 35% of the time spent in interactions consisted of elderspeak; that share dropped to about 20% afterward.

Furthermore, resistant behaviors accounted for almost 36% of the time spent in encounters; after training, that proportion fell to about 20%.

A study conducted in a Midwestern hospital, again among patients with dementia, found the same sort of decline in resistance behavior.

What’s more, CHAT training in nursing homes was associated with lower use of antipsychotic drugs. Though the results did not reach statistical significance, due in part to the small sample size, the research team deemed them “clinically significant.”

“Many of these medications have a black box warning from the FDA,” Williams said of the drugs. “It’s risky to use them in frail, older adults” because of their side effects.

Now, Williams, Shaw, and their colleagues have streamlined the CHAT training and adapted it for online use. They are examining its effects in about 200 nursing homes nationwide.

Even without formal training programs, individuals and institutions can combat elderspeak. Kathleen Carmody, owner of Senior Matters Home Health Care and Consulting in Columbus, Ohio, cautions her aides to address clients as Mr. or Mrs. or Ms., “unless or until they say, ‘Please call me Betty.’”

In long-term care, however, families and residents may worry that correcting the way staff members speak could create antagonism.

A few years ago, Carol Fahy was fuming about the way aides at an assisted living facility in suburban Cleveland treated her mother, who was blind and had become increasingly dependent in her 80s.

Calling her “sweetie” and “honey babe,” the staff “would hover and coo, and they put her hair up in two pigtails on top of her head, like you would with a toddler,” said Fahy, a psychologist in Kaneohe, Hawaii.

Although she recognized the aides’ agreeable intentions, “there’s a falseness about it,” she said. “It doesn’t make someone feel good. It’s actually alienating.”

Fahy considered discussing her objections with the aides, but “I didn’t want them to retaliate.” Eventually, for several reasons, she moved her mother to another facility.

Yet objecting to elderspeak need not become adversarial, Shaw said. Residents and patients — and people who encounter elderspeak elsewhere, because it’s hardly limited to health care settings — can politely explain how they prefer to be spoken to and what they want to be called.

Cultural differences also come into play. Felipe Agudelo, who teaches health communications at Boston University, pointed out that in certain contexts a diminutive or term of endearment “doesn’t come from underestimating your intellectual ability. It’s a term of affection.”

He emigrated from Colombia, where his 80-year-old mother takes no offense when a doctor or health care worker asks her to “tómese la pastillita” (take this little pill) or “mueva la manito” (move the little hand).

That’s customary, and “she feels she’s talking to someone who cares,” Agudelo said.

“Come to a place of negotiation,” he advised. “It doesn’t have to be challenging. The patient has the right to say, ‘I don’t like your talking to me that way.’”

In return, the worker “should acknowledge that the recipient may not come from the same cultural background,” he said. That person can respond, “This is the way I usually talk, but I can change it.”

Lisa Greim, 65, a retired writer in Arvada, Colorado, pushed back against elderspeak recently when she enrolled in Medicare drug coverage.

Suddenly, she recounted in an email, a mail-order pharmacy began calling almost daily because she hadn’t filled a prescription as expected.

These “gently condescending” callers, apparently reading from a script, all said, “It’s hard to remember to take our meds, isn’t it?” — as if they were swallowing pills together with Greim.

Annoyed by their presumption, and their follow-up question about how frequently she forgot her medications, Greim informed them that having stocked up earlier, she had a sufficient supply, thanks. She would reorder when she needed more.

Then, “I asked them to stop calling,” she said. “And they did.”

The New Old Age is produced through a partnership with The New York Times.