Don’t tell my sons this, but I learned something this morning: Length of years doesn’t equate to depth of knowledge.

My MP3 music player, which I strap onto my arm when I work out in the morning at the Amarillo Town Club, began acting up. It wouldn’t change songs. It was in “Repeat” mode. It was driving me nuts.

I looked around the gym and saw mostly more mature individuals. I probably was the oldest one in the room. But then it came to me: I’ll ask a young woman who works at the Town Club. Her name is Amanda, who — I learned not long ago — is just 23 years of age. She’ll know how to fix it, I thought.

Hey, Amanda, do you know much about these gadgets? I asked her, pointing to my maddening MP3. Sure, she said.

She took all of about, oh, three minutes to navigate her way around the various displays, finding the menu. She fixed it. Presto! Voila!

There you go, she said.

The moral of this little tale? Despite what I told my sons when they were growing up — that old folks know everything — I learned a lesson I knew intuitively already: When it comes to these techno-gizmos, the younger you are the more apt you are to know how to fix them.