By SEAN POWER
In just a few weeks the young boy that you remember giving birth to only yesterday is going to pack their bags for two of the biggest weeks of their lives: Schoolies.
Though the chances are, they won’t be packing a whole lot. I think a few of my mates got away with a pair of jocks, a pair of shorts and a singlet thrown into a disposable green bag for an entire two weeks at the beach.
It doesn’t matter where they’re going, or how they’ve spun it, every Schoolies has the same ingredients. And it’s going to take all the skills that they’ve learnt over their last eighteen years to make sure they navigate it safely to the other side.
From late bloomers to over-achievers, all fellas at Schoolies becomes equal: horny teenage blokes that have spent ten months inside a pressure-cooker who are desperate to let off steam.
It might be your credit card listed for the holiday house bond, but who’s paying for the front door when it gets broken, and how long do they have to get cash into your bank account?
Do they know where the local hospital is, or what to do if one of their mates passes out? Is there a cost for checking-out late, what happens if they break the kitchen chairs? If it’s a beach house, how close are the neighbours, and are they home? Is it worth them knocking on the door on the first night to introduce themselves?
I know you’ve already told them, but remind your son they want to be the bloke holding back a chick’s hair if she’s unwell, not the one trying to take advantage of her. The first type is a champion and the second is a criminal.
Sadly at Schoolies, too many school captains end up becoming the school creep.
I’ve heard stories about lads who had never received a detention before, losing their bananas on the first night. They were trying so hard to become the king of the castle they ended up in the back of a police van and were ordered home by their folks on the first flight out of Byron the next morning.