After two years of my efforts in leaving newspaper cut outs about the dangers of underage drinking plastered all over the fridge, confiscating six-packs of contraband and delivering dire warnings about juvenile detention, I could relax slightly in the knowledge that at least now he wasn’t breaking the law.
The local musical festival was being held a week after his birthday and part of his birthday present was a ticket to the event. Not happy to appear at the festival in the usual youth- uniform of boardies, singlet, thongs and zinc cream, Hagar decided to go all out and dignify the occasion by wearing a specially bought costume.
Ebay obligingly furnished my 6’ 2” son with a massive, fluorescent green Gumby get-up that clearly wasn’t intended to impress the ladies.
Every one of his friends was also planning on attending this massive occasion and the arrangements for the day included pre-festival drinks commencing at eleven o’clock in the morning.
This boy was going to have one hell of a headache tomorrow.
“I had better not see television footage of Gumby being helped into the back of a police car!” I commented with false bravado as he left with a bunch of unadventurously attired youths.
At about nine o’clock that night he arrived back home with a mate. Hagar was stone cold sober.
When queried about his apparent (and pleasing) abstinence, he replied that he was off to the nightclubs and hadn’t wanted to waste his first opportunity to enjoy a night on the town by being drunk too early in the evening.
Yay! Now I could spend a sleepless night worrying about him being king hit and rolled into a gutter.
The next morning I stumbled into the kitchen and discovered a clear-headed and sprightly looking Hagar.
“How were the nightclubs?” I asked, astonished at his seemingly healthy persona.
“Alright. Don’t think I’ll be going back for a while. You wouldn’t believe how expensive the drinks are.”
Young Padraic had closely observed Hagar’s preparations for attending this music festival with a mixture of intense jealousy and vicarious pleasure.
The very next year, Padriac turned seventeen and even though he wouldn’t be able to partake of the alcoholic beverages on sale, he was officially old enough to be permitted to happily groove the moo along with the rest of the 15 000 strong rabble.
Tickets were purchased and the good thongs dusted off and brought out of the cupboard. A gathering place for all his mates was organized and Padraic commenced his countdown to the big day!
On the morning of the festival a swarm of his pals assembled outside our house and unanimously decided to walk, as we live less than one kilometre from the venue.
I wandered into the lounge where Padraic had sat waiting for his mates to collect him and found a large tin of expensive-looking flavoured cigars sitting large as life on the coffee table.
Cigars are not illegal, but just like my feelings towards cigarettes, I don’t like them and I certainly don’t approve of my kids smoking so I dutifully chucked them out.
Half an hour later two of his friends, Null and Void, knocked on the door.
“Hi! Mrs. W! Padraic just phoned and asked us to call in because he thinks he left his water bottle in the lounge and could we please grab it and bring it with us.”
“Okay,” I sweetly replied, “Go right ahead, you know where the lounge is.”
I could hear them in the lounge urgently rifling under the cushions and muttering to Padraic on the phone,
“There’s nothin’ here man. Are you sure you left them here?”
After another fifteen minutes of rummaging and arguing with Padraic on the phone, they gave up their fruitless search for the elusive ‘water bottle’, thanked me for my time and left.
I waited until they were about twenty-five metres down the road.
“Hey guys!" I called out to them. "Tell Padraic I threw his cigars in the bin.”
Parents -1 Teenage kids - 4576
“I had better not see television footage of Gumby being helped into the back of a police car!” I commented with false bravado as he left with a bunch of unadventurously attired youths.
At about nine o’clock that night he arrived back home with a mate. Hagar was stone cold sober.
When queried about his apparent (and pleasing) abstinence, he replied that he was off to the nightclubs and hadn’t wanted to waste his first opportunity to enjoy a night on the town by being drunk too early in the evening.
Yay! Now I could spend a sleepless night worrying about him being king hit and rolled into a gutter.
The next morning I stumbled into the kitchen and discovered a clear-headed and sprightly looking Hagar.
“How were the nightclubs?” I asked, astonished at his seemingly healthy persona.
“Alright. Don’t think I’ll be going back for a while. You wouldn’t believe how expensive the drinks are.”
Young Padraic had closely observed Hagar’s preparations for attending this music festival with a mixture of intense jealousy and vicarious pleasure.
The very next year, Padriac turned seventeen and even though he wouldn’t be able to partake of the alcoholic beverages on sale, he was officially old enough to be permitted to happily groove the moo along with the rest of the 15 000 strong rabble.
Tickets were purchased and the good thongs dusted off and brought out of the cupboard. A gathering place for all his mates was organized and Padraic commenced his countdown to the big day!
On the morning of the festival a swarm of his pals assembled outside our house and unanimously decided to walk, as we live less than one kilometre from the venue.
I wandered into the lounge where Padraic had sat waiting for his mates to collect him and found a large tin of expensive-looking flavoured cigars sitting large as life on the coffee table.
Cigars are not illegal, but just like my feelings towards cigarettes, I don’t like them and I certainly don’t approve of my kids smoking so I dutifully chucked them out.
Half an hour later two of his friends, Null and Void, knocked on the door.
“Hi! Mrs. W! Padraic just phoned and asked us to call in because he thinks he left his water bottle in the lounge and could we please grab it and bring it with us.”
“Okay,” I sweetly replied, “Go right ahead, you know where the lounge is.”
I could hear them in the lounge urgently rifling under the cushions and muttering to Padraic on the phone,
“There’s nothin’ here man. Are you sure you left them here?”
After another fifteen minutes of rummaging and arguing with Padraic on the phone, they gave up their fruitless search for the elusive ‘water bottle’, thanked me for my time and left.
I waited until they were about twenty-five metres down the road.
“Hey guys!" I called out to them. "Tell Padraic I threw his cigars in the bin.”
Parents -1 Teenage kids - 4576
