The suggestion put forward by Joseph Muscat (or was it AD?) for the voting age to be brought down to 16 for local council elections, has been described by some as preposterous. I find it even more ridiculous however, that people are so upset by it, with the “debate” growing progressively sillier as time goes by.

One thing that has been revealed by the facility of posting immediate online comments to a story is that we are sorely lacking in the ability to form a logical argument and sticking to the point. Everyone goes off at a tangent, bringing up irrelevant issues and finally, when they can’t defend their stand any longer, they resort to name-calling. Then they call 16-year-olds immature. (And don’t even get me started on the atrocious grammar and spelling).

I feel rather indifferent to this whole topic. My thoughts are more in keeping with what fellow journalist Raphael Vassallo said in his online comment: “With so much that’s rotten in our electoral system I can’t for the life of me see why lowering the voting age should suddenly be a priority.”

Just grow up, will you?

In most of the western world, 18 is considered the age when one officially reaches “adulthood”, but even in the West there are different adult thresholds reached at different ages.

One of the biggest anomalies is the United States where you can vote at 18, but can’t drink alcohol until you’re 21, and yet you get your driving licence at the age of 16.

As people argue themselves senseless over what constitutes “maturity”, I find it absurd that this is the same country where we think nothing of letting 13-year-olds party until the early hours of the morning. Teenagers from mainland Europe who come here to “learn English” are invariably shocked and secretly thrilled when they stumble on this veritable paradise of under-age youth roaming the streets until dawn with a drink in one hand and a ciggie (or joint) in the other. No wonder our English language school market is thriving.

We also seem to be schizophrenic about what we expect our teenagers to handle. On the one hand, our educational system demands that they choose which subjects they will study for their ‘O’ level exams at the age of 12/13. Basically, at this tender age, you are telling them to choose their life’s course, only for them to realise at 18 that they have chosen completely the wrong subjects, and they would be much happier doing something else.

Conversely, I often hear about young adults aged 18 and older who still live at home and are fussed and fretted over like children.

How many times have I heard mothers say (usually about their sons), “If I’m not there to wake him up, he’ll oversleep and go late to school/work!”

Much against my better judgement (because I know it’s a futile battle) I often end up having arguments with women who reason like this. I tell them: “So don’t wake him up, he’ll be late for work, be reprimanded and eventually he’ll either lose his job or learn his lesson.”

They look at me aghast as if I’m suggesting that I suffocate their little boy with his fluffy Spider Man pillow. Then come the excuses: “No, I couldn’t do that... no miskin.”

This assumption that it is the woman’s role to wake up the whole family sets my teeth on edge. Don’t people invest in alarm clocks any more? And why is a woman perfectly capable of getting up all by herself, but for some obscure reason, her husband and (mostly male) children can’t?

I usually hate talking against my gender, because on the whole I believe women need to be supportive of one another, but this is one area where I become extremely exasperated. Do these clucking mother hens really want their sons to grow up or not? When the son finally gets married and leaves the comfort of his cosy home where his Mummy wakes him up every morning (with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in one hand and buttered toast in the other), you can anticipate what will happen next. You guessed, it is then the turn of The Wife to be the one to wake him up... and God help her if she doesn’t.

I once heard a woman speak in scorching tones about her new daughter-in-law, “she doesn’t even wake him up for work! She starts work later than him so she simply gets up when it’s her time to get up.”

I had to wrestle mentally with myself in order not to get into another argument.

Here comes another anecdote.

Mother: “I have to go home to pack my son’s suitcase because he’s going abroad tomorrow.”

Me: “Oh really? How old is he?”

Mother: “24... but I have to do it because he doesn’t know how.”

That time I bit my tongue so hard, I caused myself serious injury.

Mammone

When I’ve discussed this issue of women pampering and spoiling their adult sons I am met with two reactions. There are those who think it is “sweet” and just goes to show what good mothers Maltese women are. Then there are those who like me, shudder to think what kind of husband this Mama’s boy is going to make.

If you’ve ever watched an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond, you will know what I mean. The overbearing Italian mother-in-law constantly hovers around her son who can do no wrong, while her daughter-in-law, with her nerves in shreds, lives in a permanent state of frustration because she can never be “good enough”. Raymond basks in the glow of his mother’s adoration who thinks the sun shines out of his backside, while the wife seethes with fury.

Ultimately, it is, of course, all about control. This refusal by the mother to cut the apron strings means that she will always have an emotional hold on her son. The ensuing power struggle when “another woman” enters the picture has driven many a young bride to distraction. While Everybody Loves Raymond is a hilarious sitcom, in real life the constant need of the mother to retain a stranglehold grip on her son’s affections (“my cooking is better than hers”) has lead to many a marital breakdown.

I suppose the mother will then have her fondest wish come true when the wife finally throws the man out, because “it-tifel” will have to go back home to live with her.

And what about those single men who move out, set up home in their own apartment but then take their dirty laundry home for their doting Mama to wash? They also tend to pop in for lunch or dinner, much to Mummy’s delight, “poor boy, he needs me to look after him.”

In a way, this martyrdom by some stay-at-home mothers is understandable. Raising children has been their only “job” and so feeling useful even when their children are adults validates their role in life.

You may wonder where the father of the Mama’s boy comes into all this. Well, he’s long given up that he will ever be the centre of his wife’s attentions and has made a life for himself, probably by becoming a workaholic. Although the children have long left the nest, he knows that his wife’s priorities will never include him, so he stays longer and longer at the office or becomes involved in numerous committees which entail various meetings after work.

Of course this might be a chicken and egg situation – which came first? Some might argue that a mother becomes so unhealthily entrenched in her grown children’s lives because her husband is never at home, and he is never at home because all she cares about are the kids. Their relationship has fizzled out into a mere living arrangement long ago.

All I know is what I see around me: middle-aged men walking ahead on the promenade while the wife brings up the rear, talking to her married daughter as they push the pram carrying the grandchild. It is a scene I see played out over and over again. When the kids fly the coop, the couple realise they have long ago ceased to be a couple, and even if they do go out alone, they will sit in silence for hours because they have nothing to talk about.

We are the champions

I overheard a conversation in a shop between two women the other day:

“Well, abroad they’re just not like us at all. The kids leave home at 18 and 19, go off to another city and that’s it.”

“It’s true, they don’t care about their kids like we do. In fact once they leave home, they don’t even care if their kids are dead or alive.”

“Exactly! Mhux bhalna! We’re made differently. We love our children dearly.”

The tones of self-righteous indignation rang out loud and clear. Completely oblivious to how illogical their reasoning was, they were priding themselves on the fact that they have tied their kids firmly and securely to their apron strings. What has escaped their attention is that the role of a mother (and father) is to raise kids to be independent, so that on reaching adulthood they can go out into the world and stand on their own two feet.

Instead, these types of mothers prefer to keep their children as helpless and fearful as when they were two-year-olds.

The Maltese tend to mistake the suffocating over-protection and mollycoddling of their children for devotion and love. Yes, children need as much affection and care as possible especially when they are growing up, and they will always be your beloved children even when you are in your 70s and they are in their 40s. But there comes a time when the umbilical cord must be cut. Letting go is hard for people who have made their kids the entire focus of their life, but let go they must. It is essential for the “kids” who have now become adults and who have to make their own decisions, mistakes and face the repercussions... it’s called growing up.

It is even more crucial for the parents. Parents need to live their own lives, and not live through their children, becoming wrapped up in the minutiae of what their 20-something children are doing, stifling and stunting their growth because they never allow them to take responsibility for anything. Not even for waking up on time.

So, at what age does one reaches maturity? I think it all boils down to whether parents give children the space to mature in the first place. If you are still babying and spoon-feeding them at the age of 16, you can hardly suddenly expect them to start thinking for themselves.

Let alone vote.

[email protected]