Last night I couldn’t believe what I’d just read in my e-mail. My own mother, the most conservative person in the whole extended family, was quite serious. She was planning to get her ears pierced, and she was asking if I would like to go with her.

I can’t explain the strange feelings that swirled around. Why did it feel so funny? It certainly isn’t because I think ear-piercing is a bad idea. I have three holes in each ear, and I eagerly encouraged Laura to get her ears pierced last year. So why shouldn’t my mother get her ears pierced? I don’t know. It just seemed…strange.

But the invitation to go and have a girls’ night out was too enticing to pass up, so I accepted.

All day today I looked forward to our evening with mixed emotions. Was she sure this is what she wanted? Was she really ready for this? Was she mentally prepared? Why now???

We were busy all day running errands. Michael was off work, so it was a good time to catch up on the things that have been piling up this week. Finally we got home, unloaded groceries, and settled down for a bit. I still couldn’t believe my own mother was going to do such a radical thing. Piercing her ears! What next?

I vividly remember when I was 14 begging my parents to let me pierce my ears. My mother just didn’t see the point. She thought that only worldly girls did such things. They wore big earrings and they chewed gum loudly. I assured her that I would wear small, sensible earrings, and that it would be “classy” rather than “gaudy”. She stalled. I begged.

Shortly after my fifteenth birthday I again entreated my parents to please consider seriously my request to get my ears pierced. So they considered it. They talked about it and then reported back to me that they had decided that they would give their blessing to my idea…after my sixteenth birthday. I still remember thinking that a whole YEAR needed to pass before their promise could be claimed. I thought it was so far away, but I wasn’t going to argue, because even at the tender age of 15, I knew that it was better to have eventual permission than no permission at all.

The year passed. I got my ears pierced. I loved it. Two years later, in college, I asked a friend to add a second hole to each side. Then three years later I went to Walmart and asked the lady in the jewelry department to add a third piercing in each ear. I knew my mother would find it shocking, so I didn’t tell her. I wore three earrings in each ear for a whole week before finally pointing it out to her. My argument to her unapproving expression was that she hadn’t even noticed, so it couldn’t be that bad!

Time goes by. Life becomes more interesting and full every year, and I often leave some earring holes empty. Every now and then I rummage through my jewelry drawer and find enough small earrings to bejewel myself again. In time some of them disappear and before long I have an odd assortment of earrings still hangin’ in there.

A year or so ago I became enamored with “ear cuffs”, and I bought a couple of them. They were fun, and they garnered some comments from people, but even those take time and attention, so they sit in my jewelry box more often than not.

Tonight, I sat quietly and watched while my mother was perched on the stool behind the counter at Merle Norman. The technician carefully explained all the details, and my mother examined the blue dots on hear earlobes. Finally, after two snaps of the earring gun, the deed was done. She didn’t look so strange after all. She looked proud of her accomplishment. She really did it.

On the way home my dad called to check in with Mom and she told him that she and I were just heading home from the mall and that she had finally gotten her ears pierced. As they chatted and laughed together, I had to smile at my mother who, after all these years, still surprises me. And then I realized that I hope I can keep my children guessing for just as long as my mother has. She’s a special lady. I love you, Mom!