My son brought up the “gauges” discussion again last night. If you don’t know what gauges are, thank your lucky stars. They are hoop earrings that gradually stretch the lobes and create holes from ½” to conservatively guessing well beyond 2 ½” in diameter. Now granted my son claims he does not want gauges that big (for now I am guessing), but he thinks the whole look is cool.
The look that he loves so much makes me want to throw up. Google it if you don’t believe me, but I recommend you have a barf bag near by.
So, being a parent, my first comment is, “We have had this discussion several times already. What about ‘No way in hell’ don’t you understand?”
My second thought (unvoiced) is,“ Why, in God’s name, do you want to be ‘that’ kid or me to be ‘that’ mom with ‘that’ kid?” immediately followed by the somatic suction into the familiar bad mom, I did not give him what he needed black hole. Not helpful to me or him.
Later I realized my real thoughts were, “Why does this issue (or similar ones about tattoos, septum rings, squatting etc) keep coming up? Why would a boy as sensitive and sweet as he is, want that? What is he trying to tell me, ask me?”
I woke up before the alarm this morning and something in my body said, “Fear.”
When I was a child, the scariest thing I experienced was the Mandatory School Air Raid Drills. Khrushchev was due any minute, and we had to be ready. At 12 years old, what the heck could I do except hide under my desk, a (chubby) open target to the “Reds”??
I think my son is terrified, and I don’t think he is alone. The world we live in generates fear in whirling dervish proportions to which children and adolescents are extremely susceptible. They breathe it in everyday. Forget H1N1. Where is the antidote to the pervasive and non-stop viral assault to the well being of our children? How do we treat them as adults when they suffer from the Post Traumatic Stress of growing up in a world whose soul has been misplaced?
I think the gauges, the tattoos, the septum rings are his way to eject himself from this assault, to protect himself by leaving the tidal waves of the mainstream to go to the shore, the fringe of society, where, he believes, the water will gently soothe his tired body, heart, and soul. Where he can feel safe, out of harms way.
I think he sees his only other option as somehow walking through the dangers of the yellow brick road to meet his future, the Wizard, the man in charge. And if the Wizard is, in fact, in control, he must be the one who is responsible for causing the death of all those flying monkeys and falling houses in the first place. I can’t blame my son for wanting to get off this path, take that huge, exposed, and terrified heart of his and surround it like the Tin Man with gauges or tattoos. Put out his “No Trespassing” sign to keep it safe.
I think what he is asking me is, “Why do I want to meet the Wizard?? Tell me again why, exactly, I should stay on this road??”
It is my job to help him generate his own safety within…without gauges of course.
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