For most of you, tomorrow will more or less be an ordinary day. You’ll wake up with a chip on your shoulder because it’s Tuesday, and no one likes Tuesday. Meteorologists (weather.com) will tell you to expect random cloud scatter and a slight chance of rain. History buffs will celebrate the 160th anniversary of the ill-fated Second Republic of France. But it’s no ordinary day for me. In fact, it’s my birthday – and not just any birthday.
Jewish tradition holds that, by the time you are 13, you’re ready to be considered an adult. The United States Congress feels differently. In 1984 it passed the National Minimum Drinking Age Act, making it illegal for anyone under the age of 21 to buy or possess alcohol. In the quarter-century that has followed, not a single underage person has had a drink.
Sorry, thought I’d make sure you were still paying attention. It’s just that, from midnight tonight until the day I die (or am declared criminally insane), I’ll be able to walk to the authorized distributor of my choice and purchase “crunk”-inducing substances for my consumption. Yes, tomorrow is my 21st birthday. But to be honest, I’m more scared than excited.
Don’t get me wrong; it’ll be sweet having everyone buy me drinks for a night. But what about the next day, and the day after that, and every following day until the day I die? How can you get something you’ve been denied so long, and expect to control your newfound freedom?
Addiction is everyone’s favorite buzz killer. Everyone has a vice, but substance abuse doesn’t count as one. You don’t hear people say, “My only vice is that I just can’t resist top-notch heroin.” Why? Because they’re either in jail or dead. And while alcohol may lack the needle’s self-destructive punch, it can send you to the same place if you don’t keep your habit in check.
Alcoholism certainly has its tinges of regality. But booze is excess, and excess is ubiquitous in our society: Kids see commercials for alcohol long before understanding what it is; we watch films and fall in love with shot-pounding, flawed protagonists, because their pain seems real and we believe in it. Addiction is woven into our country’s DNA.
And how easy they make it to nurture that addiction! I’ve never been in a liquor store; but I’ve driven for long enough to know I’m never more than a five-minute drive from the nearest outlet for my emotional shortcomings.
So I’m scared. Scared for the responsibility accompanying my individuality. Unless your parents were effective in sheltering you from an authentic childhood, you know some kids who have struggled to balance these two important character traits. And trying to maintain a friendship with someone who has lost control to excess can wear on anyone’s heart.
Drinking illegally has brought me my fair share of ups and downs. But I guess this is no time to dwell on the negative. To cast the status of “minor” aside is a thrill in and of itself. So if, for some reason, circumstances bring you out to one of Eugene’s nightspots on Tuesday, look for me. I’ll doubtlessly be making the rounds for the first time. Come and say hi. Offer me a drink. I want to have a good time. It seems counter-intuitive, though, that the people who drink the most are usually having the least amount of fun.
[email protected]