The Rites of Life: Legal at Last

By Liz Barry Audio slideshow by Kim Raff

The only thing standing between Allen Addair III and his first legal drink is a burly bouncer.

Addair waits on the sidewalk in front of Mudpuppy’s in Lynchburg with his best friend Kyle Schaffner. He compulsively checks the time on his cell phone. This time it’s 11:35 p.m. - 25 minutes and counting.

Addair, a car salesman and Jefferson Forest High School graduate, is the last of his friends to turn 21. Since his birthday falls on a Wednesday, Addair must report to work tomorrow at 9 a.m. But that has not stopped him from celebrating tonight.



“What’s your first shot gonna be?” asks the bouncer, Ed Marsh, who has checked the IDs of countless newly minted 21-year-olds.

“Jäger,” jokes Addair with mock enthusiasm, referring to the German liqueur, Jägermeister.

May 7 arrives quietly. Addair he must wait until 12:15 a.m. to enter the bar. House rules.

“This is the longest 30 minutes of my life,” Addair groans.

At 12:15, the bouncer signals Addair to the door and checks his ID.

“The gates to paradise are open,” Marsh says.

Addair enters the golden glow of the restaurant’s lobby and beelines to the bar. He gapes around the smoky room, and then catches the bartender’s attention.

“Two Bud Lights and two Kamikazes.” Addair says.

The bartender delivers the first round. With a grin on his face, Addair and Shaffner clink their beer bottles together. Legal at last.

The big 2-1

For a year, Addair kept a digital countdown to his birthday on his Facebook profile, visible to all of his 900-plus Facebook friends. When people asked him when he turned 21, Addair would rattle off the exact number of days remaining.

Turning 21 is one of the last gateways to adulthood. At 18, Addair earned a string of new rights: the right to vote, enlist in the army without parental consent and get married without parental consent, to name a few. But buying beer would have to wait.

The law’s ambivalent about when you’re legally an adult. The debate surrounding the legal drinking age is just one example.

During the past century, the minimum drinking age has swung like a pendulum from 21 to 18, then back to 21 again. When prohibition ended in 1933, almost every state established 21 as the legal drinking age - and it stayed that way for decades, according to the Virginia Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control Web site.

In the 1970s, states began to lower the drinking age to 18 - a change that coincided with moving the voting age from 21 to 18 in response to the Vietnam War. The argument was that if you’re old enough to die for your country, you are old enough to vote and to drink. Virginia followed suit in 1974, dropping the drinking age for beer to 18, while wine and liquor stayed at 21. In 1985, the drinking age swung back to 21 for all alcoholic drinks, part of a nationwide movement to cut back on alcohol-related problems, especially drunk driving.

Addair’s birthday celebration takes caution into account. Before the big day, Addair’s mother, Tara Addair, gave him the responsible drinking talk. The night of the party, Addair hands his keys over to Mom and arranges for designated drivers.

Beyond drinking, turning 21 is one of the last steps towards independence for Addair, a Texas native who loves basketball and playing the guitar. After graduating from high school, Addair lived on his own for a year in an apartment subsidized by Mom. He took classes at the community college and sold cell phones.

In the fall of 2006, Addair left Lynchburg to attend college in Tennessee, but moved back home after a year to be closer to his friends and family. Addair earned his real estate license. But with the downturn of the housing market, he put his real estate plans on hold.

Since February, Addair has been racking up 60-hour workweeks at a local car dealership. He pays his rent and the bills. Mom still covers the cell phone bill, but other than that, Addair is on his own.

Getting ready

After work, Addair heads to his apartment in Wyndhurst to get ready for dinner at O’Charleys with his family and friends. Addair splurged on a new outfit from Belk: a blue and whitestriped Ralph Lauren polo shirt and khaki shorts. His intention was to buy just a shirt, and he came back with a $60 outfit.

“I’m going to look dead sexy tonight,” Addair says with a laugh to his roommates, before heading upstairs for a shower.

In the excitement of the night, Addair accidentally uses his roommate’s toothbrush. For a final touch, he spikes his short brown hair with gel and sprays on Silver Cologne for Men by Ralph Lauren Polo. After one last look in the mirror, Addair heads downstairs to join his friends.

Dinner’s not for another half hour. To kill time, Addair chats with Schaffner and his roommates in his sparsely furnished living room. He sits on the sofa, absently strumming his guitar.

“I’m nervous,” Addair says to his friends with a sigh.

“Nervous about what?” Schaffner asks.

“Dude, I’m 21. It’s a big deal.”

The grand entrance

Addair makes a point to arrive at the restaurant fashionably late. The reservation is for 7; Addair comes at 7:15.

Family and friends bombard Addair with hugs and “happy birthdays.” In the chaos, a feathery pink birthday crown is thrust on his head, and a beauty queen sash with “Miss Birthday Girl” in pink cursive letters makes its way across his torso.

“It’s going to be a long night, ladies and gentleman,” says Addair, before heading to the bar for a drink.

Addair settles into the relative calm of thedinner table. He is joined his mother, stepfather, grandparents and an entourage of friends, mostly female. There are 15 people in total.

Friends and family order drinks for Addair, who washes it all down with a plate of chicken tenders and fries.

“Two shots of Jose Cuervo for me and him,” Addair says, pointing to his grandfather, Allen Addair.

The shots arrive with green salt around the lips of the glasses. A friend massages Addair’s shoulders before he takes the drink. Grandpa is undaunted; the Cuervo is nothing compared with the moonshine he used to drink.

Grandpa and grandson take the gulp, and exchange a high five.The table becomes more raucous as the night wears on. Stories, laughter and drinks circulate the table.

Towards the end of the night, Mom leans across the table and gives stern instructions.

“If you go anywhere tonight and you don’t have a ride, call a cab,” she says.

“We will,” says Addair, who has already arranged for designated drivers.

By 9 p.m., Mom’s purse is on her lap. Time for the adults to leave.

“Seriously, if Grandpa stays, it’s cool,” Addair insists.

But even Grandpa must go.

Last call

Just past 9:30 p.m., the party migrates down the road to Buffalo Wild Wings. Since it’s a weeknight, some of Addair’s friends head home. A dedicated majority joins him at the bar.

“Check out that birthday. Check out that birthday,” Addair says as he flashes his license to the bouncer.

“Oh wow, you’re really a baby,” the bouncer says with a laugh.

Addair and his friends grab bar stools facing a wall of big screen TVs, blaring sports games. Addair orders a beer, which arrives in a tall frosty mug.

Four hours later, the night ends where it all began Mudpuppy’s.

At last call, two sober drivers take Addair and his friends home. The morning after, Addair wakes up with one last birthday present: a killer headache.