If you asked me why I waited until my 21st birthday to drink, I could tell you a number of reasons. For one, my big sister waited until her 21st, so that’s what I thought you were supposed to do. She has always been my role model. Two, I’m stubborn, and I had told people a while ago that I was waiting until my 21st birthday to drink. I had made up my mind, but they doubted me or told me I’d go wild once I arrived at college. This fueled my fire even more to keep my word. And three, it doesn’t sit well with me to think of doing anything illegal. I’m just one of those people who is paranoid of getting in trouble for no good reason. I’d get nervous when an officer would walk by me in the halls when I was in middle school—palms sweaty, heart racing, the whole deal—and I never did anything wrong. I guess you could say I’m a stickler for rules, and I’m OK with that.
So, at the handful of house parties I’ve been to in my three years at UF, and during the many nights out dancing at clubs, I just got used to saying, “No, thank you. I don’t drink,” when an offer came my way. I’d hold my cup of water, and sometimes people wouldn’t even realize I wasn’t drinking.
But not being 21 began to get annoying when my sister hit the big mile marker two years ago. Being denied from many clubs, bars and even restaurants made me want to scream, and I’m not an angry person. It became a blockade in our friendship, a limit on our outings and a separation of sorts. Once, we got all dressed up and went to the Hard Rock. I think we approached the doors of about 10 places and were turned away. “I don’t even want to drink,” I’d say. “I just want to come in and sit with her.” No dice.
After recently being turned down from the Starlight Room night club in our hotel on a family trip to San Francisco, and then more recently by Market Street Pub in downtown Gainesville, I had about had it with being underage.
But last Wednesday it all ended, and I awoke a free bird, a woman with access. I turned 21. That night, I went to Midtown with 21 friends for one of the most fun nights ever. We started with dinner at The Swamp. Appropriately, my sister bought me my first drink. The waitress didn’t ID me - after all, I was wearing a tiara and a “21 Things” sign - but I flashed my license at her anyway. What once was my ticket to “no” now became my all-access pass. Finally, I would unveil the beloved world of booze. I would learn what Grey Goose, peach schnapps, black raspberry, pineapple and Sprite tasted like together. I would be allowed into 101 Cantina and Salty Dog and Balls when I arrived in the coming hours. And, yes, I would be that loud, obnoxious freshly 21-year-old girl stumbling through Midtown in stilettos with a giant sign around her neck.
I enjoyed a few shots with funny names and kept describing a warm sensation in my face and throat. I enjoyed sipping shots because they were so flavorful, much to the chagrin of the people who bought them for me who expected me to kick them back in one gulp.
I danced, I met people and talked excitedly. I laughed a bit more than usual. And I was overly nice — telling people how nice their eyes were or that they had a big heart.
I taught someone how to belly dance, collected 21 phone numbers, had an intellectual conversation, dined with a stranger, made a speech, called the 21st person in my phone and braided the hair of a male stranger, among other equally crazy things listed on my sign. A few minutes after 2 a.m., after walking out of Balls cheerful but tired, I proudly announced to the world I completed the 21 things on my sign.
If you ask me if I would have enjoyed my 21st as much if I had started drinking years earlier like many kids do, I couldn’t tell you. But my guess would be that I wouldn’t have. The excitement and anticipation of tasting my first drink, of trying different liquors, of being initiated into the drinking world, could not have been nearly as great if I had taken all those opportunities to get used to it. I had built up a curiosity, and waiting made me appreciate the discovery.
Kathryn Stolarz is a UF journalism senior.
