‘90s FAMILY : A Sense of Direction : Most cultures have a ceremony to mark a child’s passage to adulthood. With it comes new respect and responsibilities.

From the moment a bar or bat mitzvah takes place, Jewish teenagers are considered responsible for their relationships to other people and to God. A week before his bar mitzvah last year, with out-of-town relatives arriving en masse, 13-year-old Eric Friedman of Brentwood began to get nervous. But a kind pep talk from his rabbi helped ensure that his recitation in Hebrew of the Torah reading--about Moses leading the Jewish people out of slavery from Egypt across the Red Sea--went smoothly.

“Afterward, I felt like I had really accomplished something,” Eric says. “I felt that I had worked hard and done something useful that would be with me forever.”

“As a bar mitzvah, one steps into a chain of thousands of years and bears both the privilege and the responsibility of carrying that on,” says Rabbi David Wolpe of the Jewish Theological Seminary.

Last spring at her quinceanera, Natalie Aguilar, dressed in a long white gown, walked down the church aisle with her four padrinos--special older couples--and a court of 15 young couples. Hundreds of friends and family members heard the priest formally introduce the 15-year-old Latina to the Catholic Church and to society. Following the ceremony, guests celebrated at a banquet complete with toasts and a waltz.

“You are taking a new step,” reflects Natalie, a high school junior who lives in Montebello. “You realize that you are a woman now and you are no longer a little girl in the eyes of your parents and friends. Your decisions are more important and reflect on your future life. And you realize that you are an important member of your community.”

So important are these rites of passage that most cultures mark the transition from childhood to adulthood with coming-of-age ceremonies. When the community does not provide the ceremony, teenagers provide it for themselves. Lamenting the absence of strong rituals in American society, philosopher Joseph Campbell wrote of young gang members: “These kids have their own . . . initiations and their own morality, and they’re doing the best they can.”

Lorene Sisquoc, co-founder of the Mother Earth Clan, an organization of Native American women, agrees. “Like many other tribal peoples, for many years we didn’t have the freedom to continue our traditions,” she says. “Our kids were forced to go to boarding schools and we were punished for talking Indian languages. Today, we wonder why a lot of things are going wrong with our youth--like gang initiations, graffiti, suicide and alcoholism. Coming-of-age ceremonies give teenagers a sense of who they are, a sense of direction.”

Preston Kazhe, 17, a boarding student at Sherman High School in Riverside, returned to his family home in Mescalero, N.M., for an Apache coming-of-age ceremony. Days were filled with prayer. Nights were spent in a small house built of willow, covered with cowhide, deer hide and canvas.

“The medicine people sing songs in Apache about how you are changing and at night they place special food by the door,” Preston says. “One of the medicine people, my godfather, slept with me for four nights inside the house. On the fifth morning, when the sun came up, I went and washed in the river. Then I was considered an adult. At first, I felt afraid of growing up, but the medicine people told me that nothing bad would happen.”

In some African American communities, a program called Rites of Passage is gaining popularity. Sponsored by churches and other groups and run by volunteers, this yearlong agenda of community service, goal-setting and African rituals marks the transition from childhood to adulthood by the completion of a series of tasks.

“African American teenagers are disproportionately affected by the constant images of our destruction,” says Pastor Leslie White of the Grant African Methodist Episcopal Church. “Rites of Passage teaches young people the values that keep us human; to be a protector, not a destroyer; to be a provider, not a consumer. The program teaches the very definitive principles for a community, without which we would find ourselves in chaos.”

In between school and a part-time job, Vincent Allen Cochran, 17, looks forward to his Saturday Rites of Passage sessions with 30 of his peers. “Our teacher tells us stuff about himself--how he used to run the streets with gangs and how he found that it wasn’t getting him anywhere,” Vincent says. “We tell him about things that are happening in our lives. Before this class, I didn’t like to discuss things with other people, but now I see that most people have the same problems.”

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For many American youths of various cultures, there is a less solemn, but treasured, rite of passage: the driver’s license.

Like many road-hungry teens, Yocasta Mendizabal of Mission Hills took a private class to learn to drive. For months, the 16-year-old junior perfected her skills by taking the wheel each morning, driving to Alemany High School with her white-knuckled mother.

“My mom sits in the passenger seat being scared, but my dad is a nervous wreck when he drives with me,” Yocasta says. “It’s fun because I’m going to be able to get together with my friends more and I won’t have to get rides. It’s also another responsibility. You have to be careful that you’re not speeding and careful not to run anybody over.”

High school sophomore Brad Lundy is counting the days until his 16th birthday in June when he can go down to the Department of Motor Vehicles, take his test and finally drive by himself. “The license represents independence from your parents, and in effect, increases your curfew,” Brad says. “I’m ready for the responsibility.”