"Mom,
can I get my
ear pierced?"
"Over my dead
body," I said. A cliche, but true.
"Why not?"
"Because boys don't
get their ears pierced, girls do."
"You mean if
Jennifer asked you, would say yes?"
I hesitated, but
had to give him an honest answer. "Well, yes, I probably would."
"But that's
discrimination," my fourteen-year-old son Ryan shouted. "You can't tell
me I can't do something just because I'm a boy."
"There's more to it
than that," I countered, hoping he didn't press me for too many
details.
"Like what?"
I groaned. I should
have known I wouldn't get off that easily. "Well, it's not exactly
socially acceptable for boys to pierce their ears. Some people will
probably laugh at you."
"So." He shrugged.
"Lots of the big sports stars have them now. And more than half the
guys in my class. No one laughs anymore. It's not like when you were a
kid. Back then a guy with a hole in his ear would be called all kinds
of names. Now they would just call him cool."
"But what about
your plans to go into the service? I doubt the recruiters will look
favorably on a kid with an earring."
"I'll take the
earring out then and let the hole close over. If it doesn't close,"
again the shrug of his shoulder, "big deal. I just won't wear any
earrings. I won't need it anymore by then, anyway. I need it for now."
His need was
something I couldn't understand, or maybe just refused to accept. I
fell back on another parental cliche. "If you can get your father to
say yes, then it's fine with me."
He frowned. "Oh
great. Thanks a lot, Mom." His sarcastic voice echoed in the room and
he rolled his eyes. "You know Dad will never agree."
Biting back a
smile, I nodded. Yes, I knew his father would never accept the idea
just as I knew Ryan would never have the courage to bring up the
subject. I felt that I had once again safely navigated the often
treacherous waters of parenthood.
But Ryan didn't
give up. For several months, at least once a week, he would ask me
about it again. Yet when I mentioned his father, he would shake his
head and tell me, "Never mind."
Then one day he
changed his reply.
"You just don't
understand, do you Mom? It's not your ear, it's mine. And it's not you
people will make fun of, it's me. I think you're more worried about
what people are going to think about you, then what they'll say about
me." He glared at me with a face that showed the promise of the young
man he was trying hard to become.
I gulped hard at
the truth in his words, thinking back to my own teen years of
mini-skirts that barely covered my backside and boys I had dated who
had hair longer than mine. All Ryan seemed to want was a chance to
express his individuality. A chance to play the rebel before adulthood
forced him to conform.
"I think we should
let him do it," I told my husband later that night. "I mean, after all,
what's the big deal?"
"It's just not
done, that's all," my husband groused.
Funny how my own
words sounded so differently when someone else said them.
"But what can it
hurt? He wants to make a statement about himself. It could be so much
worse. He could be doing drugs. He could be smoking or drinking. He
could be lying or sneaking out at night. But he's not. He's a good kid."
It seemed strange
to be straddling the other side of the fence, but I did it willingly.
For every argument he presented, I countered with Ryan's response that
it was his ear, to do with as he wanted. After weeks of grumbling and
long nights of discussion, my husband grudgingly gave in.
On the way to the
mall the next day, Ryan asked, me why I had changed my mind, and gone
to bat for him against his father.
I repeated the
comments I had made to my husband. One phrase seemed to stick in Ryan's
mind.
"You think I'm a
good kid?"
"Sure." I smiled. I
found it hard to believe that simple fact should be so surprising to
him, yet it was.
"I mean you really
think I'm okay?"
"Yes, Ryan, I do."
"Wow," was the only
comment he could think to make.
In the jewelry
store, I tried to look nonchalant, hiding back behind a stand of
necklaces, and letting Ryan take charge. He took his time deciding on
which earring he wanted for the first six weeks, finally picking a
small diamond-like stud that was quickly imbedded in his ear.
After purchasing a
few other earrings, and some cleaning supplies, we were on our way
back home. Every
five minutes or so, Ryan would pull down the mirror, supposedly to
check that it was still there, but more likely to admire the way it
made him look.
Most of Ryan's
friends were amazed that we had allowed him this small gift of free
expression. His grandparents shook their collective heads in
disappointment, sure that Ryan was headed for a life of trouble. But
Ryan stood up tall and offered no excuses to any of them. He had made
the decision, and he was willing to live with it.
Ryan getting his
ear pierced has caused no earth-shattering changes in our lives. He's
still the same old kid who fights with his sister, loves to play
baseball, and hates to take out the garbage. And he still plans on a
career in the military.
It's been about six
months now. He wears a gold lightning bolt most of the time, but every
now and then I'll catch him scrounging through my jewelry box, looking
for something he might want to borrow, and I can't help but smile. It
seems like a hole in the ear was a small price to pay for what I got in
return.
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