For Thursday, April 9, 1998 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 738 words

21 son salute

My boy turned 21 last week. Did he go out with his buddies to a wild party? No. Did he call up his friends, take over our house and host a wild party? No.

He went out with me, his old man. That's what he wanted to do. Isn't that sweet? He said, "Pops, lets you and I go out and paint the town." So we did.

We drove down to Berkeley, his choice, and hit a few microbreweries, his choice. I brought a pocket full of dough, ready to spend loosely, but didn't have to. Birthday boys get free drinks, if they ask nicely.

At our first stop, the Pyramid Brewery, he just ordered a beer and we paid for it. He didn't even get carded, which upset him. I said, "Didn't you tell the barkeep it was your birthday?"

He said, "No."

I said, "Well, that ain't the way to do it, son. Let the old man show you how it's done. Hey, barkeep! Don't you offer a free beer to a man on his 21^st birthday?"

"Sure we do," he said.

"Well, then, set 'em up. My boy, here, is twenty-one today."

"Sure thing," he said, and that free beer tasted mighty good. Then we drove over to the Triple Rock Brewery. While Adam was in the john I set things up with the bartender. I asked him to please card the long-haired red-headed kid I came in with, and be a sport and give him an ale on the house. That he did.

After one beer we walked down to the Jupiter Brewery. Again I set it up with the bartender. Again Adam got carded and a free beer. We ate a pizza, which we paid for. Then we came home.

It wasn't a wild, crazy night, but it was extra special for us. My wife was overjoyed, too. She loves it when Adam and I do manly bonding things.

"What else do you want to do to celebrate your birthday, son?" I asked. "Now that you've partied with your old man, do you want to leave me home and go out with your cronies?"

"No," he said. "I want to go to Reno with you and Mom."

I could kiss him. In fact, I think I did. We both did. Then we drove him to Reno. We took a room at the Circus Circus so he could transition into adulthood. First, we stopped on the kiddies' midway, played Fascination and won a teddy bear. Then we dropped down into the casino and tossed the dice. He won a few dollars.

We stopped back at the room and I gave him a crash course in card counting. We sauntered over to the Cal-Neva and played blackjack until the wee hours. We all won some money, and Adam won the most, which was fitting.

He got so involved in the card game that Susan and I wandered away and spent some time alone. When we came back he was still winning, and yakking it up with some ladies at the table. He was showing them how to play their hands, and they were winning, too. I bought us two of the biggest darn cigars I could find, and we smoked them down to the paper bands.

Susan and I commented on how strange the ritual was, that our son turned 21 and we immediately turned him on to smoking, drinking, and gambling. I told her I intended to write about it, and she said I'd probably get a nasty letter or two from disapproving readers. I said it wouldn't be the first time, and to heck with that because we know we've raised our boy right, so dash it all.

We even shopped around for a girlie show, but couldn't find a good one, so we bought tickets for Smokey Joe's Café, the Eldorado musical.

We ended the trip with a heartfelt conversation around a 3 a.m. breakfast. We talked about college, his career, and how he would soon be paying his own bills. We told him he was officially, certifiably out of the nest, flapping with his own wings, and responsible for whatever happened next. We gave him some leads on good student loans, warned him against early marriage, bought him a final hot chocolate, and tucked him into bed.

We drove home at dawn, and thus ended our 21 son salute.