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When I was in the seventh grade my best friend Sara got her ears pierced! Wow...so worldly...so cool...so, so wonderful! So everything! I just had to have my ears pierced too. Which, when I arrived home that afternoon, I announced to my mother. But I didn't get the reaction I thought I would. Instead of agreeing with me on the incredible artsy beauty of pink plastic hoops she simply replied, "Talk to your father when he gets home. If he agrees, we'll see."

Follow up:

Now, as every parent knows (and as even I knew at the ripe old age of eleven) the smartest course of action in situations of extreme delicacy, is to defer to the parent you KNOW will give the answer you want to give but don't have the heart to. Which is exactly what my dad did when he got home. "NO," he bellowed and then went one step further. "The next thing you'll be asking is to get your nose pierced!". "My nose pierced?" I wailed. "That's silly, no one get's their nose pierced!" But no amount of pleading, eyelash batting, or cajouling could move my father. The decision was final and I "suffered" through my remaining school years with the trauma of naked ears devoid of the pink plastic hoops I lusted for. Well, it was final until my first month of college when I discovered that the infirmary did ear piercings. I giggled all the way back to the dorm imagining the look on my dad's face when I arrived home for Thanksgiving.

Which brings me to the point of this whole discussion. My beautiful oldest daughter arrived home this evening with her birthday present to herself...a new piercing. Let's see, that makes six altogether if you only count the original piercing of one hole per ear...as one. I sincerely doubt she'll make it through a metal detector the next time she flies! And, although I wouldn't have suggested this amount of decoration, I have to say that I have no issues with it either. You see, she never added a new piercing without calling me and discussing it. Not to ask permission, she's much too independent for that and she is after all over eighteen. But rather she'd be looking for my opinion. She listened to all of the reasons I'd have against the idea and added all of her reasons for it. Sometimes...after several days of thought she's even ended up agreeing with me. In the end, she's made up her own mind and I have been comfortable with the knowledge that she'd thought through the whole idea.

Why is this important? Despite what many adults seem to think the fact that a child's body is small does not mean that their brain is as well. Although children may lack experience they do not lack intelligence. Children have to learn to make thoughtful decisions. It takes a lot of practice and parents with an overabundance of patience and the will power to let their child make mistakes. My own girls have been allowed to make their own decisions if the decision was within their scope of understanding. They were allowed to choose their own outfits at three and if they were too hot or too cold or too uncomfortable that was ok. They would use the experience the next time they were dressing. My oldest learned at seven that living on her own really was lonely when I helped her move all of her things to a tent in the backyard. She lasted thirty minutes. And I allowed the girls to decide whether or not they wanted to visit their dad in ICU the day he died. Despite all of the dire warnings from hospital staff and my own reservations I know now nearly eleven years later that had I made the decision for them there would now be a huge hole in our relationship and in their hearts.

Today, I have two incredibly confident and intelligent daughters who are capable of handling any situation that confronts them. They understand how to weigh the pros and cons of a decision and rather than acting out of rebellion or impulse they always seem to arrive at the right answer for them. Isn't that what all parents hope for?