I find it harder and harder to deal with the annual birthday and the upcoming nightmares that soon folllow.

Sunday night I received belated birthday wishes from an unbelievably distant cousin and his roommate from Bradley University in Peoria. I had to stop and think for a minute about why they were calling since they were a week late.

But as you know, it’s always good to hear the skeleton bones from your closet rattle every now and then.

So, after relishing the thought of yet another excuse to set aside my homework and being the target of jokes for not being in a fraternity, the three of us did a little bit of catching up.

After all, two Greeks from Bradley beating up on me for being a “God damned independent” is even more than I can take.

We talked about our favorite subject—another friend of ours—until we eventually led back to the bond that our friendship primarily has evolved from and revolves around.

Drinking beer.

And of course, we dredge up all of those stupid stunts we pulled off together, wondering why we weren’t caught.

The same antics you will destroy your children for if they even gave a passing glance at anything even remotely similar, whether alcohol was involved or not.

So as the conversation wound down, I began to think more and more about my birthday and beer. The scary thing was that the normal “let’s have a few to celebrate” attitude was being replaced by—gulp—responsiblity?

No matter how much someone detests school, not learning, there is a sense of security in referring to the future in terms of semesters. All too frequently, people find themselves near the end of their college experience and ready to face the unemployment lines.

So, another birthday, another semester.

And then there is the subtle twist that makes a usual news story an unusual one. My youngest brother bestowed upon me the honor of being born on his birthday. Although five years apart, and hardly deserving of the ridiculous nicknames I have annointed him with over the past years, he is anything but little.

But it just so happens that he isn’t following in the footsteps of his oldest brother (thank God), nor the peer pressure. Actually, he has found more humor in going to the secret parties and watching the others have a few too many while embarrassing themselves—truthfully.

I remember sneaking into bars when I was in high school, all the while praying that my football coach didn’t find out. But when my “little” brother, turned adolescent, tells me his friends attending parties three, four and five years ago worried about their grade-school basketball coach finding out, I had to wonder.

Everyone knows the old saying that kids continually start doing things at younger ages, but there has to be an end somewhere, doesn’t there?

I know the problem isn’t new and can’t be isolated to Hickville. But then again, maybe younger brothers and sisters who have college-aged siblings don’t know that people don’t have to drink in order to be accepted and have a good time—or do they?

Cheers.