There was no such thing as Schoolies Week in my day.
We finished school, walked out the gate, and went to look for a job.
We felt like we had no choice. No time for mental health days or gap years or any other time out.
No need for mum and dad to prime themselves for talks of birds and bees, or hangovers, or getting in cars with strangers.
We just went. And we did. Whatever that was, everyone had their thing.
Were we better off for it? I don’t really know. My mates at the club will tell you we were toughened for life, ready to embrace whatever the weather or the economy, or Godmother Circumstance threw at us.
But I’m really not so sure. I can say that safely because I write cowardly behind a nom de plume – it’s French, sounds soft, right?
Things are different these days. Families have it tough. Domestic violence is through the roof, and while I’ll bang on ad nauseum that there are no excuses to treat someone else poorly, let alone a family member, there’s a brutal reality that quite a few children are innocent bystanders in shows of frustration.
Maybe Schoolies Week is just the release they need before making their way into the real world.
Sure, I’m old school, from an era when we sucked stuff up. Bullying was normal, aggression was at times a method of education – at school and at work. Mental health was something people were born with, not something people developed.
Nobody to talk to in those days? Nobody I’d dare talk to. They’d call me a name, and tell me to grow something. A pair, even.
As we get older, we become a little more brave. We care less about what others think of our vulnerability, and we share common woes.
But for some, life’s no less lonely than it once was when we dared not share our problems. Take half hour out of your day to have a chat, share a memory, and listen to someone else’s story.
You’ll feel better for it. And so will they.
