Drunk By Obligation
Yesterday one of the younger nephews celebrated his eighteenth birthday.
The family organized a proper village-style celebration. A maypole was raised, long tables appeared under a canopy, crates of drinks materialized from somewhere mysterious, and relatives operated with the quiet efficiency of people who have organized exactly the same event at least forty-seven times before.
The atmosphere started warming up already in the late afternoon.
Naturally, the first thing served was whisky.
Because apparently in human civilization the transition from “child” to “adult” is traditionally marked by immediately poisoning the liver.
The Ritual Begins
At first everyone behaved relatively normally. People laughed. Music played. Someone grilled meat. Someone carried chairs around nervously as if chair logistics were the central pillar of society.
But whisky cannot realistically sustain an entire evening unless the plan is to wake up in another province. So after the ceremonial beginning they switched to beer and wine.
That is when the social machinery truly activated.
The young crowd became louder and more energetic, and eventually even the older family members joined in slightly. Not fully, of course. Adults at these events have a dual role: participate, but also supervise the collapse of everyone else.
Someone must make sure there is enough food. Someone must refill drinks. Someone must quietly prevent teenagers from accidentally setting fire to agricultural equipment.
Because despite appearances, most of them were still technically underage.
“Hop, Hop, Hop!”
Then came the first major toast. Loud shouting. Glasses raised. “Huraa!”
Then music again. Talking. Laughter.
Soon another toast followed. Then another.
At some point the famous regional drinking rhythm appeared:
“Hop, hop, hop, hop, hop!”
At which point everyone aggressively empties glasses as if hydration itself has personally offended them.
After that the dancing started. Curiously, they mostly played traditional domestic folk music — polkas, waltzes and similar songs that my generation once considered unbearable torture.
Back then young people wanted rock, metal, techno, rebellion. Now apparently they spin girls around dance floors while accordion music plays enthusiastically in the background.
Times change. Honestly, I still do not fully understand it.
But I have now seen it often enough to accept that modern youth somehow reinvented folk music and made it fashionable again, which is both impressive and deeply confusing.
The Birthday Boy Slowly Loses Contact With Physics
As the evening continued, the birthday boy naturally became the primary target of hospitality.
Which in our culture means: everyone tries to get you drunk out of love.
Eventually one of the drinking games began. The poor guy had to kneel while they covered his eyes and poured alcohol directly into his mouth like he was some sacrificial figure in an ancient fertility ritual.
Oddly enough, despite all this, the atmosphere remained peaceful and friendly. Nobody became aggressive. Nobody smashed bottles over furniture. Nobody attempted to fight the moon.
The group was loud but good-natured.
Still, after only two hours the celebrant was already visibly struggling against gravity. His legs had entered separate negotiations with the ground and were no longer fully cooperating.
Yet the party continued late into the night. Because the birthday boy absolutely must survive until midnight. If he collapses too early, the symbolism fails somehow.
Drunk By Social Obligation
Watching him, I had the feeling he was not entirely comfortable with the situation.
None of that group are serious drinkers. Especially not him. He does not normally drink heavily and clearly was not enjoying the experience as much as everyone assumed.
But refusing drinks at eighteen is socially dangerous. At that age, especially among young men, alcohol still functions partly as performance: proof of toughness, proof of belonging, proof you are not weak, proof you can “handle it.”
So people drink not entirely because they want to, but because declining creates tension.
If he refused, would someone be offended? Would people think he was soft? Would he ruin the atmosphere? Would he appear childish at the exact moment he was supposed to become an “adult”?
Probably that pressure mattered more than the alcohol itself. So in a strange way, he became drunk by obligation. Not by law. Not by force. But by unwritten tradition.
Could He Have Done Something Else?
I honestly do not know.
Maybe he could have slowed things down himself. Maybe he could have simply said: “Let’s take it easier tonight. I’d actually like to stay conscious until the end.” Or quietly switched to weaker drinks. Or secretly carried the same beer around for three hours like experienced adults do at weddings. Or performed the ancient survival technique of pretending to drink more than you actually are.
Older people become remarkably skilled at this. You notice it especially after thirty: half the guests are carefully maintaining mild intoxication while theatrically behaving as if they personally emptied several barrels of wine.
Youth drinks honestly. Age drinks strategically.
Heroes Or Idiots
The whole thing reminded me of my own generation. Back then the traditions were exactly the same. Possibly worse.
Alcohol flowed like irrigation systems. And God forbid a young man failed to participate properly. Drinking was still tied to masculinity, courage and social status.
Fortunately I never organized huge celebrations myself.
But even in smaller groups the pressure existed. Usually people drank either because of bets, because of proving themselves, or because everyone else was doing it.
Which raises an important philosophical question: were we heroes? Or simply idiots with functioning livers?
Honestly, probably both.
What Nobody Thinks About
And yet, neither the young people nor the adults present seemed to consider one important thing.
What if at least one person in that cheerful group discovered something dangerous that evening?
What if someone realized that alcohol made them feel relaxed for the first time? That it gave them courage. That it helped them overcome shyness. That suddenly conversations with girls or boys became effortless, natural and easy. What if that experience quietly embedded itself somewhere deep in the back of the mind?
Because the human brain remembers relief remarkably well.
Will someone from that group repeat the experiment one day? Perhaps before giving a public presentation.
Perhaps before a stressful social event. Perhaps during a lonely evening. Perhaps before approaching someone they secretly like but are too nervous to speak to.
Will they remember that alcohol once solved the problem for them? Maybe not. But maybe yes.
And that is probably something at least the adults should think about occasionally.
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