To drink or not to drink: soaking up adulthood

At the end of the summer, the Leaving Certer turns 18; that magical age when the adult world lets you in. Once September 1st arrives, it will be legal for him to vote, marry, play exceptionally violent games, and drink alcohol. It's a scary prospect.

 

I am not naïve enough to believe he has not been experimenting with alcohol already (indeed, I would be very surprised if he hadn't), but what does make me want to slap a great big shiny Pioneer pin on his hoodie is the way it is automatically accepted that, once you turn 18, you devote most of your energy to securing the resources to drink as much and as often as possible.

 

Before you assume that I am either (a) a pious hypocrite whose idea of a good time is crocheting banners campaigning for the return of the Irish temperance movement, or (b) in denial, I do recall (vaguely) some pretty wild nights from my college days. I don't think there is anything wrong with enjoying a few drinks now and then; what I do have a problem with is the assumption that becoming an adult has to involve boozy obliteration on a regular basis.

 

If you don't believe me, try buying a birthday card for an 18-year-old. “Turning 18 has given you the maturity to consider what you'd like to be...Drunk!” and “You are now legally allowed to vote and drink… I vote we go down the pub!” were just two of the offerings available in my local supermarket. And even the cards that did not explicitly mention drink had pictures of bottles and glasses all over them.

 

Even back in the day, when Leaving Cert points stopped at 32, turning 18 meant a legal entitlement to drink, but I don't remember even the most liberal adults condoning teenage drunkenness. There was still a taboo about getting off your face, and although that did not turn me off alcohol, it did mean that I never felt that drinking too much was something to boast about.

 

We take so much care in preparing our kids for the day when they're untied from our apron strings that it just seems tragic to celebrate it by encouraging them to buckled.

Aoife O'Carroll is a separated mum living in Co Kerry with her two boys aged 17 and 14, and a girl aged 10.