I put the Christmas tree up last week. It is undoubtedly one of adulthood’s greatest joys – being able to throw caution to the wind and make an informed decision to put the Christmas tree up in the middle of November.
In fact, there are probably few things quite as empowering as plugging in the fairy lights when others think it’s far too soon for such festive nonsense, but you feel the fear and do it anyway. Because you’re a rebel without a pause, or if you prefer, an adult making grown-up decisions.
And each evening since, I’ve sat on the couch, basking in the glory and calm of its festive glow. Except for that brief period on day two when all the lights in the mid-section decided to stop working, in spite of – or perhaps even to spite, as some Grinch-like characters suggested – my expert and precision tree light and decoration placing endeavours the night before.
“The little lights are not twinkling, Clark,” played on repeat in my head, until I opened the laptop and ordered new ones, so as to ease the eye twitch that had suddenly developed.
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And peace was restored to the Hogan galaxy as the tree was stripped and lights replaced and I found myself thinking once again how great it is to be an adult, albeit through gritted teeth this time.
I couldn’t wait to be an adult. As my 18th birthday approached, I looked forward to being able to (legally!) drink alcohol and not worry about being refused entry to a club or the student bar. Like Nadine Coyle herself, I had perfected reciting my birthdate, though I wish I’d thought of adding ‘making me a Sagittarius’ to the end. Just to be more convincing, like.
I was looking forward, too, to being in charge of my own life – well as much as anyone can when they’re still in the ‘as long you’re living under my roof, you’ll follow my rules’ regime that goes with continuing to reside in the family home. And, dare I admit it, I was looking forward to being able to vote. Yes, having a vote was indeed something 18-year-old me was very excited about. What can I say? I was just born cool.
And I don’t know why this was so important to me. I came from a house where voting was not a priority. “They’re all the same,” I’d hear on a regular basis. And “same” was not meant in a complimentary way. I knew which way they’d likely vote, had they been inclined to cast their votes. But still it remained a fixation and a priority for me, even when I was a lone voter in the house.
That didn’t change when some of my children became young adults themselves. Taking no chances that they’d be too caught up with school, homework, or general apathy towards the whole thing, I took it upon myself to put them on the register. And I am she who prods on voting day, lest anyone become complacent about actually voting.
For two here, it will be their first general election. And curiosity has peaked. “Have you decided yet who you’re voting for?” one idealist asks me on a regular basis, ready to both challenge and consider. He knows what his priorities are, but he hasn’t yet had a chance to put them to any candidates because, at the time of writing, none have come knocking to our door. But his eagerness to engage convinces me of something I have thought for a while now: there would be great value in reducing the voting age to 16.
What do children know or understand of life and political issues?
Well, it is they who are sitting in schools who can’t get teachers. It is they who struggle to access mental health services and are waiting unforgivable amounts of time on assessments of needs. It is they who struggle to get places in special schools that can support their needs. They who are in pain on scoliosis waiting lists. They who are seeing child poverty rates increase. They who can’t access the therapies and supports they need. They who are living in homelessness. They who are more likely to affected by climate change. They who are facing the uncertainty of ever being able to afford their own home. They who were disproportionately impacted by Covid restrictions, with little consideration for the wider impacts. And even they whose schools will be closed for the third time this year, so that they can be used as polling stations.
So, quite a lot it seems. If only they’d the chance to be heard. And be prioritised.