I’m a pretty big fan of debating. Something about raising my voice and telling people why… I’m a pretty big fan of debating. Something about raising my voice and telling people why they’re wrong just reminds me why I’m going to be an excellent father.

So when I was recently posed a rather serious question, I had a rare moment of confusion. I just couldn’t figure it out — I felt like an old person voting for Gore in Florida. Which was better: a frat party or a bar mitzvah?

Now to the untrained eye, this conundrum seems like a comparison between apples and oranges, East Coast and West Coast, Greeks and Jews. It might seem ridiculous to compare horny seventh-grade Jewish boys looking to do anything for a girl and horny freshmen boys looking to do anything for a girl. The situations are so different — but they’re so similar.

I imagine that I was first introduced to parties at a young age. Birthdays at the local laser tag center with pizza and apple juice began my social interactions with girls — although most of them simply had cooties in my eyes. By the time fifth grade hit and parties moved into basements with random parental supervision, I kind of thought of myself as an expert. There was the one boy in class who had already kissed a girl and jealousy abounded over who would be number two. Suddenly, it seemed like my level of cool completely depended on my ability to convince a lady to peck me on the cheek.

Then came the bar mitzvah! In between the Hora and Lil John songs was the undeniable tension of young infatuation. No longer was it OK to still be chasing that miraculous first kiss. It was like college football season, and if you didn’t score on Saturday night, then you weren’t going to move up in the popularity rankings.

Make no mistake, I love bar mitzvahs. Becoming a man through study and trying to chant with a cracking voice just seems like the right way to do it. I love the gentiles who skip the religious service and the Jews whose parents make them go. I love the line dances and the drama over who actually won the hula-hoop contest.

The bar mitzvah is the perfect coming-of-age story for the middle school man. It involves a sugar rush from all of the cheap candies and Star of David-shaped cookies. When the lights turn down and the Usher songs start up, it’s like the girls are dying for that perfect kiss to “let it burn.” Depending on how the game is played, a bar mitzvah can make or break a reputation for years.

Fast-forward five years, and then comes the frat party! Sizzling between the entrance fee and Journey songs was the undeniable tension of young infatuation. No longer was it OK to still be chasing that miraculous first — well, let’s just say it wasn’t that miraculous. It was like March Madness, and if you didn’t score every night then you weren’t going to move up in the popularity rankings.

Make no mistake, I love frat parties. Becoming a man through blowing off studies and grinding in dirty basements just seems like the right way to do it. I love the girls who go to dance and the guys who fail miserably at dancing. I love the unorganized loudness and the drama over the longest actual keg stand.

The frat party is the perfect coming-of-age story for a college man. It might involve the rush from certain libations and unfortunate hormones. When the lights turn down and the Usher songs start up, it’s like the girls are dying for that perfect kiss with an “Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh my god” moment. Depending on how the game is played, a frat party can make or break a reputation for years.

So which one is better in the long run? Actually, it kind of seems like they’re the same exact thing. It’s like picking between the Pittsburgh Pirates and a Minor League team. Not quite the apples and oranges they might seem to be — but more like the Manischewitz and Natural Light they are. Same result, just different ways to get there.

In the end, though, the decision was easy for me to make. Raise me up in a chair, toast L’chaim and rent out the country club because I’m going with bar mitzvahs! Maybe it’s because I was cooler in seventh grade or maybe it’s because I’m living in the past, but bar mitzvahs rule. And if you’re in a fraternity and looking for a theme for your next party — grab a kippah and go with the bar mitzvah party. Just make sure you wait until the sun goes down on Saturday night before you start!

Send Andrew a mazel tov at [email protected].