Friday, August 1, 1980. The day I turned 21. Here in the U.S., most people spend the first 20 years and 364 days of their lives waiting for the day when they can legally consume an alcoholic beverage. But, as I've said enough times to drill it into your heads, leaving you with a lifetime of nightmares and bedwetting...say it with me..."I'M NOT LIKE REGULAR PEOPLE!!1!"
Now that we've gotten that out of your system (not mine because...never mind), let's get down to business.
My 21rd birthday was not memorable in any way. I don't have a clue as to what I did because it was so long ago, so let's try to piece it together. It was a Friday, so I'm sure I went to work. Very likely, a few of my co-workers took me out to lunch, but no shenanigans like excess alcohol or dancing on the tables because...work. They sort of frown on things like that.
Later on at home, per family tradition, we went out to dinner at a restaurant of the celebrant's choosing. At the time, I really liked a Mexican restaurant called "El Gato" out in Van Nuys on Sepulveda just north of Sherman Way (it's long gone now). Everyone in our family was there except for my older brother Mark. If memory serves, he was living out on Catalina at that time and unable to make it.
El Gato was a bit more expensive than most Mexican restaurants at the time. I recall Dad grumbling about how expensive things were. While I had not planned to have a margarita or anything else alcoholic anyway, I definitely wasn't going to now. We got through dinner and went back home. I don't recall whether the mariachis sang to me or whether we had cake at the restaurant or at home. Those details are long lost from my memory.
The next post will be Day 30 of the 30-Day Writing Challenge, and it will be about something I'm excited for. Stay excituned for it.
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