Elisabeth Kwak-Hefferan: A fitting welcome into adulthood? Not exactly.

Last night at midnight, when the 26th became the 27th, I officially turned 21.

It's one of the big birthdays, all right. It's a cause for celebration even beyond the normal cake-and-balloons routine. And in case you're at a loss for ideas on how to mark such an occasion for yourself or your friends, it comes with a ready-made script. Wink. Nudge. You know what I'm talking about -- no matter the company or the setting, it seems the most important activity for one's 21st is to get rip-roaring drunk. As one of my best friends turned 21 last week, I have an idea of what to expect. We planned on a trip down to Old City for Italian and wine, followed by bar-hopping and free drinks courtesy of those who were already of age (or had good fake IDs). A blizzard may have changed the details of the plan, but not the intent. After all, as one guest reminded us, the birthday girl had better be praying to the porcelain gods before the night was through -- because otherwise, of course, the event would be a total failure. We ended up at a campus bar, feeding the new adult in our midst shot after shot. Although she remained on her feet the entire night, she did feel a bit under the weather the next morning. Mission accomplished. For all practical purposes, the 21st birthday is the last milestone on the road to growing up -- it's the gateway to adulthood. Supposedly, it all builds up to this: parties for turning 13, 16, and 18 pale in comparison to the debauchery that attends the mighty 21. Seeing as this is the last major birthday that's any fun at all (all we have to look forward to from then on are "over the hill" cards), it's fitting that we turn the celebration into a rite of passage. But why does all the significance of our official grown-upness get lost in a sea of tequila? And isn't it rather ironic that our first day as a real adult is spent acting like an idiot? Perhaps it's because 21 buries the last age-related restriction we need face (ok, except for renting a car), and we embrace our newfound maturity wholeheartedly. As long as parents and police officers can tell us we can't, we're still basically kids. Now that drinking is finally allowed, though, we're thrilled to take full advantage of the new privilege of the adult world. Nevermind that full advantage almost always equals excess and a hangover -- we'll learn our lessons soon enough. The problem with that explanation, though, is that few among us haven't had a drink or two while underage. Actually, even those who don't shell out 80 bucks for a fake ID have little trouble drinking regularly, if they so desire. Alcohol is not a new phenomenon for us when we turn 21. We drank in the Quad as freshmen (sorry, RAs) and now we're still drinking. What's the big deal? Well, drinking per se is not the change: it's what we're drinking, where we're drinking and with whom. The birthday represents a series of upgrades in our social scenes. Cheap beer and jungle juice become martinis and chardonnay, frat basements become the smoky downtown hangouts of Philadelphia's fabulous and our companions are finally the big boys and girls. Nice changes, yes, but nothing major. This alone can't explain why turning 21 inspires full-fledged bacchanalia. Logically, a more fitting welcome to adulthood is in order: on our 21st birthdays, it would really make more sense to have a friendly adult sit us down and lead a discussion on interest rates, mortgages and proper office attire. Hell, no. That would be the scariest, most unpleasant birthday celebration I can think of. Being 21 is perilously close to the real world, and we know it -- at this point in our existence, we're clinging to college for dear life. We know it's going to have to end someday, someday soon, and that we'll have to face all the unpleasantries that come with adulthood, but that doesn't change our healthy sense of denial. So, getting trashed and conducting ourselves like irresponsible toddlers on our 21st birthdays is not just done for fun. Oh no, it's a desperate attempt to stave off the responsibility and stress that we know is coming. It's our last line of defense against a cold and unfamiliar real world. We may now be actual adults under the law, but we're not going without a fight. Ha, we think as we pour margaritas on each other and dance on bars, let's see you call us mature now! Enough of this civilized discourse. It's my 21st birthday -- somebody buy me a drink. Elisabeth Kwak-Hefferan is a junior communications major from Wheaton, Ill.

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