Allison Stadd, University of Pennsylvania, Class of 2009

11/4/2009

2006 Essay Runner Up

"They can't be serious. This must be a joke." I gaped at my computer screen, willing the e-mail titled "AlcoholEdu" to dematerialize from my school mailbox. By the graces of my wistful empty-nester mother, I had been granted a relaxing, work-free last summer at home. The last thing I was looking to spend a few tanning-time-wasting hours on was some alcohol awareness program that preached the same statistics and advice as health class in fifth grade… and eighth grade… and eleventh grade. But as I cringed and clicked on the given link with dread, something in the back of my mind intimated that maybe this would not be such a bad fact-refresher or eye-opener for the huge step into the "real world" that I would be taking in a few months.

And, in truth, the presentation proved to be more than just a conversation starter in those awkward orientation moments: "Hi, I'm Allison, I'm from Maryland, I'm living in Hamilton, I'm a prospective pre-med and English major, I have two dogs and an older sister, I like chocolate, I like to dance, I like these TV shows and these movies and… oh! How annoying was that stupid AlcoholEdu program? I mean, really…" I found myself strangely comforted by the knowledge that I would not be dealing with this stuff alone. Sure, I had been to house parties and drank with my friends in high school. But college was an entirely new lifestyle -- and everyone had heard those college party rumors about roofies, keg stands and crazy drinking games.

As the first weeks of freshman year elapsed, I was surprised at how different the whole adjustment was turning out to be than I had imagined since I opened that pivotal acceptance letter. Parties and events were definitely more out in the open than in high school, in that flyers and e-mails and frat brothers' broadcasting shouts pervaded the campus. But I also noticed, for example, banners designating parties as "18 to enter, 21 to drink." This subtle acceptance of those of us below the true mark of adulthood was a subconscious relief, and I imagine that it encouraged others as well to deem alcohol as less of a party imperative.

Among the assemblies we, as new students, were required to attend was a presentation by the campus police about safety and school policy. As the speaker droned on about walking in pairs at night and how to request an escort back to the dorm, I could sense the entire audience tuning out and focusing on decidedly more pertinent matters, like when to pick up textbooks and how to handle impending roommate doom. But at first mention of the "medical amnesty" policy, people perked up. The officer informed us of the frequency of student alcohol-related hospital visits, and of the anonymity of submitting ourselves or a friend to the hospital if in need of alcohol overdose-related treatment. I could feel my eyes widen in alarm -- that many people wound up at the hospital? I had heard horror stories about getting your stomach pumped, but I did not realize such a possibility could be so prevalent. I would never want a night to end in the emergency room.

Other alcohol prevention efforts I felt affected by included the dynamic presence of student activist groups. Unlike in high school, where club members included only brown-nosers and resumé-builders, I observed that the members of these campus drug awareness organizations were, well, normal. I saw athletes and sorority girls, people dressed in sweats and people decked out in designer brands. If this array of people did not feel the need to get drunk all the time, or at least not without mindfulness about it, why should I?

I was also cognizant of the slew of non-alcoholic activities promoted across campus. It was nice to find that so many students sought sober entertainment at a capella shows, dance performances or sports games. This form of recreation provided an opportunity to get involved in the university, support friends who invested time similarly, and perhaps most importantly generated endless excuses to decline the liquor on any given night.

Ultimately over the course of the remainder of the school year, I met with the need to make decisions about drinking. Would it be weird to stay in and study on a Saturday night when my friends were all heading to the bar? What would everyone think if I went out but stayed sober? And if I decided to drink, how could I be sure to be sensible and responsible? How would I know how much was too much?

Try as I might to accredit the source of these answers to my intuition or omniscience, I had to admit that the purport of that groan-inducing e-mail all those months ago had stayed with me. I was able to keep track of the number of drinks I ingested, and what consequences a range of BAC levels would translate to. Both my experiences with alcohol prevention at school and recollection of information from AlcoholEdu admittedly enabled me, for the first time, to look at drinking as less of an essential ingredient of the college experience and more of a side order I could opt to accept only when I truly wanted to.

A Japanese proverb states,

"First the man takes a drink.
Then the drink takes a drink.
Then the drink takes the man."

The AlcoholEdu program, in conjunction with alcohol prevention efforts on my campus, has impressed on me that if a man takes a drink, he should calculate the alcohol content, make a conscious decision of whether or not to consume it and be comfortable with the knowledge that he can put it back down and join friends at the party without it.