I shuffled into the Roswell, N.M., mall a few day ago to watch my granddaughters — Alayna and Emma Johnson and Olivia Lee — get second piercings in their ears. It’s the thing to do, they gushed, being able to sport two earrings in each lobe.
I had taken the girls on a meandering visit to the mall the day before. Two hours of looking and giggling finally focused on a Claire’s store with stock enough of earrings and similar body adornments to meet the needs of most of Roswell’s 50,000-plus folks. Naturally enough, piercings also are available.
On the way home from the first shopping excursion, the girls decided that I needed an earring. Sure, I said, on the pretense of being sincere.
On the second trip, they wouldn’t let it go.
“Come on, Papa,” they chirped in chorus, “get your ear pierced,” accentuating the plea by flashing a small ruby earring, my birthstone.
Remember, they were talking to a 71-year-old guy who has few frivolous thoughts these days, a deep-seated fear of pain and never once in his life considered going about with an earring. For as long as I can remember, I even looked with a touch of smug and detached curiosity at males who did.
However, little girls are mighty persuasive.
Then, the thought occurred that if I were to accede, the experience would be etched in their memories and be something they’d cherish for the rest of their lives.
How could I refuse?
Even so, I hadn’t convinced myself. A text to grandson Noah, home in Humboldt, was answered with a resounding “NO,” but, he added on second thought, “it would be cool.”
I watched Olivia get her ears pierced without so much as a flinch, which assuaged my fears. If it doesn’t hurt her, I thought, surely it wouldn’t me.
“OK,” I finally said, and hopped into the piercing chair, relaxed, and, truth be known, hardly felt a thing.
Notified of my indiscretion, Noah’s reply was surprising: “Awesome!”
The girls were just as enthusiastic, though to a one they admitted to mild surprise I didn’t back out. Later, Roswellian grandson Hudson just shook his head when he saw me sporting the little red dot in my ear.
Of course, I can remove the tiny earring anytime I want and the ear will heal over.
But, you know what, it’s kind of growing on me.
Now for tattoos and a motorcycle, that’s a little much. There is, after all, a limit to my bravado.
Peer pressure from granddaughters carries disproportional weight
