When my friends from other schools ask me to explain what Picnic Day is, I usually tell them that students tend to take one of two paths:
- Wake up at around 9:00 and enjoy the rest of the day on campus attending various booths and activities that clubs and labs have set up.
- Wake up at 5:00 and continue to drink and party for the rest of the day.
It is, of course, possible to dabble in both, but the point is this: There’s an expectation that you drink on picnic day. There might even be an expectation that you drink the entire day on picnic day.
While standing in line with my friends for the aquatic touch tanks, we were discussing a girl who had told us she gets very quickly drunk off of a specific brand of alcohol. “Really?” my friends scoffed, “That’s only about 10%. Alc.” They’re not directly insulting her, but the intention is laced in their voice — that girl is lame because she can’t keep up with their alcohol intake. They pass me a can — I hold it to my lips for a few seconds, then give it back to where it came from. I spend the rest of the day listening to people slur their words and bump into me and have the time of their life.
Sometimes it sucks being in college and telling people you don’t really drink that much. A beer or two is fine, but you don’t get shitfaced. You don’t wake up with a hangover, ever. This is purposeful.
The thing is, though, people usually want to know why you don’t drink: “Are you a lightweight?” they say with a facetious smirk. But you just end up nodding, because it’s easier than telling the real story. “Well, my grandfather always had trouble with drinking, and he ended up losing jobs because of the benders he went on, and my dad grew up so ashamed of it that he worked hard to break that cycle, and I’d feel like I was betraying him if I were to even approach that kind of relationship with alcohol…”
When I was alone with a friend this Picnic Day and he asked me why I wasn’t drinking as much as everyone else, I decided to actually tell that truth. Not with all the details, of course, since that would be too much. “Alcoholism runs in my family,” I said simply.
“Mine too,” he said, taking another swig.
I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish we didn’t get mean and make fun of each other for being lightweights, for being “too good” to drink alcohol. I wish having a good time didn’t equate to not being able to remember what happened the next day. I wish my friends didn’t joke about how they’re alcoholics, except they’re not joking, because now they pull out bottles any time we’re together. I don’t want to get shitfaced, but I also don’t want to be the only sober person in a party full of drunks.
But when I voice these thoughts, I’m lame, I’m a downer, I kill the mood. I sound just like your mom! Or your dad! Or whatever other adult told your childhood self that touching the bottle would lead to a sad and humiliating death. I understand, on some level. I’m sure a lot of these kids know how to moderate themselves without getting too drunk and are just having a good time. I just wish that alcohol wasn’t a prerequisite to having fun in college, and that kids didn’t make these four years into a “How much you can drink” game. Maybe I am lame. But my favorite parts of picnic day were the ones where we were sitting on the grass, lying in the sun, talking, and enjoying the world around us. Senses heightened, brains still intact, sober.