Aw, winstonsmith, bein' fifteen ain't all that unique.
I wuz fifteen, once upon a time. 1949, it was. Turned fifteen about the time of my first airplane ride, from Austin, Texas, to Manila, Philippines.
But I still remember my mother's comment to me, around age thirteen: "If you're going to drink, do it at home. At your age, you'd look foolish, drinking in public." The comment always stuck in my mind, not wanting to look foolish, and I passed it on to my son.
Having tacit permission, I never bothered to raid the refrigerator. (Which, of course, was the whole intent of my mother's comment. Sharp old gal.) I did have the occasional glass of beer with my parents at a Mexican-food restaurant, occasionally. That's another thing that's stuck with me.
The whole idea of learning about drinking, though, is how to pace yourself so you don't get goofy. It's the getting goofy that can easily come under the heading of "Stoopid". (Which I ain't gonna say I never did. I just never fooled myself that it was all that smart.)
, Art