I was seventeen years old and it was 1999. Remember good ole '99? Thank you, Prince, for getting the world's most obnoxious song stuck in my head every SINGLE day that year. I was a senior in high school, and suddenly body piercings became the newest trend. Everyone was getting their navels, eyebrows, cartilage, and tongues...yes, tongues...pierced.
Now I'm not usually one to succumb to peer pressure. In fact, I'm just stubborn enough to do the opposite of what everyone is doing just so I can say I don't give a flying flip about peer pressure. I wish I could say I've grown out of this, but you really should send my husband letters of sympathy, because I'm truthfully the same stubborn, block headed girl I was back then. Nonetheless, even the most independent of us fall to peer pressure occasionally, and this was apparently my downfall. Don't judge me - let's not talk about your teased bangs/blue eyeshadow/pegged pants/oversized flannel shirts with holey jeans, alright?
Where was I? Oh yeah...piercings. So I decided - in my infinite 17 year old wisdom - that I needed a tongue ring. Why, you ask? Well...um...it looked...no...it felt...hmmm...not really...I thought it was....yeah, not so much...
Okay. I didn't really have a good reason. I'm still not sure why exactly I wanted a tongue ring, I just set my sights on it and wanted it with all of my 17 year old heart. The hurdle? My mom. And this was no ordinary hurdle. This was the same woman who endured one solid semester of nagging every SINGLE night as we washed the dishes together about not being allowed to go to the 6th grade dance. The same Mom who didn't allow me to wear makeup until I was in 8th grade, despite my protests that everrrrryoneee eeeeelseeee was wearing it. The same Mom who told me in 7th grade that I wasn't allowed to call Chad Wilson because girls didn't call boys.
Today, I'm grateful for my Mom's protection, but I just knew that my request for a tongue ring would be met with laughter. But I finally did it. I got up every last bit of nerve that I had, walked into the living room where my Mom was reading a book, and asked if I could get a tongue ring. I expected laughter. I thought maybe she'd scream, "WHAT?!" I braced myself for angry questioning. Instead...I got...silence.
Just silence. No laughing, screaming, or anger. After I checked to make sure she hadn't entered into a shocked catatonic state, I asked, "so...what do you think?"
"well....why do you want a tongue ring?" she asked. "um...i don't know, i just think it looks cool," was my brilliant response.
She answered, "Okay."
Okay? Okay??? Okay??!! Who abducted my mother?!
And do you know what my Mom went on to say? Probably some of the wisest words I've ever heard. She said, "Well, Jen - you're a good kid. I don't have to worry about you drinking or having sex, and you spend most of your weekends here at the house or hanging out at Kolby's house debating Scripture (nerd alert!). I guess if this is the way you want to rebel, then I'm okay with that. It could be a lot worse."
Once I picked my jaw up off the floor, she went on to give me two conditions - 1)She would research and find a safe, clean place and 2) She would go with me.
So I went to get my tongue pierced with my Mom and my sister. My poor sister (12 years old at the time) about passed out when they drove that needle through my tongue. She actually doesn't have any piercings beside her ears even now....hmmmm...something tells me my Mom is even smarter than I thought.
The best part of this story is that I applied to and was accepted to Kentucky Christian University just a few months later. A small Christian college where...surprise, surprise...no piercings were allowed. Yep, I had like three glorious months of rebellion.
Good Parenting:
I wish I knew the details of this story a little better, but Shawn has become very suspicious when I start asking details about stories of his childhood. Something about me posting me the tack story on the blog or something...but here goes...
When Shawn was either a junior or senior in high school, he had a band called Detour that was actually a pretty big deal in their area (and yes, if he's reading this, he's rolling his eyes and probably wondering where the heck I'm going with it). He was also in his school's marching band. Shawn's high school was a pretty small school and most of the kids had grown up from kindergarten together. As I've mentioned before, Shawn's Dad is a minister, and Shawn grew up with a reputation of being a pretty good kid. He got great grades and pretty much stayed out of trouble. By the time he was in his late high school years, this combination led to him being able to pretty much do whatever he wanted. I'm amazed at the stuff he got away with.
Apparently one day Shawn and his bandmates decided they wanted to have some fun with their football game's halftime show. Instead of dressing up in those cute little marching band uniforms with those hats with the feathers sticking out, they decided to - get this....
do a KISS show.
I'm not kidding. Yep..that KISS. Yep, full costume and makeup, and I think even fireworks at the end. Seriously. And now, if I know Shawn, he's sticking up his pointer and pinky fingers, nodding his head back and forth, and rocking out to some KISS song in his head.
Did I mention his Dad is a preacher? I don't entirely know the full details of the story, but I know that when Shawn asked his parents for permission, their reaction was very similar to my Mom's. And not at all what Shawn expected. I think they realized that they had a basically good kid on their hands who - while sweetly mischeveous - never worried his parents with any real trouble.
I wish I had pictures of this show, I really do. I've seen them, and it's awesome. We're talking platform boots and everything.
So what do these stories have in common - besides illustrating to you that two complete nerds can find true love? Our parents knew when to reign in our tendencies and when to trust our independence.
Bad parenting:
In stark contrast to our parents, who knew when to allow us to test our boundaries and when to reign us in, I decided that it'd be a good idea to give my nine month old a pen with which to play. While he's fine and no harm's been done...I wouldn't recommend, as a practice, giving your babies sharp objects to distract and amuse them once they're able to turn those objects around in their hands and point the sharp side straight towards their eye. Don't get me wrong - my instincts are usually pretty good about this kind of thing...just not this particular day apparently. So for future reference: baby + sharp objects + momentary Mommy brain loss = DANGER.
See? Not only do you get sound parenting advice by reading this blog, but I like to throw a little Algebra at ya - just to keep you on your toes.
As I mentioned, no pens went in anyone's eyes, but he did try:
My foot was also likewise decorated. And just so we're clear:
baby + sharp object + momentary Mommy brain loss = DANGER!
Don't feel too bad Mama...my husband let Jamie play with a straw and he poked it right into his eye before I had a chance to stop him. It happens. ;)
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