Turning 21 isn't all it's cracked up to be

JESSICA RUSSELL
DM Arts and Life Columnist

This past Aug. 25 was a very sad day for me. Suddenly, enjoying a tasty beverage stopped being fun. What happened on that fateful day? I turned 21.

For those of you scratching your heads at that last paragraph, let me explain. Although the law says you're not supposed to drink until you're 21, get real. Very few people on this campus can honestly say they waited until they turned the big 21 before they had their first taste of alcohol.

When I graduated from high school, we had a big party afterward just like you did. I can still recall waiting in line to process in to the First Baptist Church in Montgomery, Ala., before baccalaureate. People were taking up a collection, not for the church, but for beer and ice.

Thus, everyone is forced to sneak around by drinking out of unmarked cups, putting their drinks down when the cops show up at the bar and making older friends, namely me contribute to the deliquency of a minor. As silly as the sneakiness is, it's a lot of fun.

The fun comes from the danger. The next person tapping on your shoulder could be Officer Friendly asking to see your ID at the Gin, rather than that cute person you've been eyeing from across the room. That Bud Light at The Library could get you a free night's stay at Oxford's den of debauchery, the Lafayette County Detention Center. And you thought I was talking about the Bryant Hall bathroom.

It used to be almost a game to see what free beer would be available at parties. Beast? Southpaw? Nat Light? You certainly could never say anything about it; after all, underagers can't be choosers. But now, you can walk into any grocery, convenience or liquor store and buy one of everything on the shelves if you so desire. Where's the fun in that? All it means is you will now be watching your liquor money even more closely, since wine can seem like it really does go with everything.

Another aspect of 21-ness is the fact that it just makes you feel like a decrepit old fart. With record numbers of freshmen hitting campus this year, it seems like everyone is a baby (no offense, freshmen).

For me, it's especially hard since I live in Crosby. There are 18 freshmen on my floor, compared to zero last year. I should have known I'd be the grandma of the 10th floor when, during introductions at the beginning of the semester, everyone took the opportunity to say what high school they graduated from. I skipped that part, as somehow I doubt anyone cares about where I did what in May of 1997.

Now don't get me wrong, I love the girls on my floor. They're an incredibly talented, sweet and generous group of people who love to talk (just like me). They even humor those of us oldies up there. Like everything else, it takes a little getting used to. Right now, I'm just reveling in the experiences and, yes, even a little wisdom that comes with being 21.