Yesterday was my 21st birthday, but the bars wouldn’t let me in.

OK fine, it wasn’t technically my birthday. I was born on Feb. 29, leap day. That date only graces us with its presence once every four years, (but not this year) because of the specific rotation of the earth around the sun. So instead, I chose to celebrate on the 28th.

I’ve done this my whole life. The 28th is still in February and it gave my parents a break between birthdays with my sister being born on March 2nd.

Turning 21 is a special time, a right of passage. Of course it means your first legal access to alcohol, the poison that completely soaks the collegiate experience, but it’s also one of the last steps to unbridled adulthood.

I’d like to have enjoyed this milestone on the day that’s been my birthday for most of my life. Waiting until midnight of March 1st left me feeling cheated.

Most people get to go absolutely crazy on their 21st. Even if they were already familiar with booze, it’s commonplace for people to go beyond their limits when they finally hit that magic number. No one can legally stop them anymore, and what better way to celebrate that new freedom and responsibility than to completely abuse it?

That was not to be my fate. I wasn’t looking to get trashed, but I’m a fan of new experiences. I was looking forward to going someplace I previously could not legally enter and have a memorable birthday night with my friends.

My excitement was chilled; however, when I learned I’d have to wait outside.

I was barred from entry on a technicality, a unique situation no one seemed prepared to handle. I understand allowing me in “early” could have caused a lot of trouble for any bar. Trouble I didn’t want them to have to deal with. But having to wait for the day to end, for the between time of the 28th and the first, time that lasted less than a second, made my birthday feel like nothing at all, which, technically, I suppose it was.

There’s no way Julius Caesar could have anticipated this scenario when he and his astronomers decided to add an extra day to February every four years. While the Romans were certainly no strangers to alcohol, I’m fairly certain “coming of age” was a bit of an elastic concept to them.

I’m not holding a grudge though. Old Julius did help give me a birthday relatively four times as special as that of most people, and there are more pros than cons with that.

Now I’ve got a story about my 21st that’s just as special, and the bar scene isn’t going anywhere.

Seth Schroeder is a junior journalism major. He can be reached at 581-2812 or denopinions@gmail.com