On June 24th 2006, just 3 days prior to my 19th birthday, I traveled into Harvard Square from Lexington with two of my good friends. Since I was about 16 years old, I knew that the 3 piercing I wanted to have. Two zero gauged stretched lobes, and a labret stud piercing. The stories of my ear piercings were interesting enough, but neither compared to the labret story I am about to weave.
At A Glance Author David D Contact David D@bme.anon When A month ago Artist Owen Studio Chameleon Tattoo and Body Piercing Location Cambridge MASS My father is Iranian and one could say old fashioned. He hates anything out of the ordinary, I.E. and sort of body modification including but not limited to body piercings and tattoos. Needless to say, it was hard enough getting my ears pierced. However I knew it would not quench my undying thirst to complete my body mod. I needed the labret to come full circle and complete my masterpiece. A side note about my father is that when something displeases him and goes against his wishes, he sees it as a sign of disrespect and as a result makes life miserable for everyone around him, namely my mother. My main concern for getting this piercing was not the arguments that would ensue for myself, but the pain and anguish it would inevitably cause my mother.
I waited an entire year to get the labret done because I did not want a family crisis to interfere with my graduation and college admittance process. So finally when all my family obligations were completed, and my parents were vacationing for a weekend in Miami, I set out to Cambridge accompanied by my two good buds. I paid the $72, lots of money but well spent for an excellent piercing, and made my way into the room to which Owen, the piercer, was instructing me. He allowed one of my friends to come in as well, they played rock paper scissors to see who would come in, and we entered. After getting the virtually painless and well placed piercing, I left with my two friends. One of my buds said that Owen's voice actually soothed him and put his mind at ease. But never mind that onto the crazy part.
3 days later when my parents returned for my birthday dinner and Bugaboo Creek, my mother told me to wait outside for my father to enter the restaurant so as not to embarrass him with my startling piercing in front of my uncle and grandmother. When he arrived, he immediately began swearing in the parking lot but regretfully entered the restaurant. We sat down but not for long. Before my father could throw his menu across the table and storm out, he warned me not to enter the house until I had removed the jewelry. So from then on, for a little less than a month, I was kicked out of my house. I had one conversation with my father during this time, in which he presented the same ultimatum, keep the jewelry and you cannot live in this house. So for the first time in my family's history, I stood my ground against my father. I spent time at friends houses and eventually ended up living at my grandmothers, but not before my father could make me feel worse than I have ever felt in my life.
During our conversation he explained that no son of his would ever go against his wishes as I had, and therefore he did not consider me his son. One of, if not the most hurtful thing ever said to me by my father all over a little piece of steel going through my chin. It was not until nearly a month had passed before my father eventually broke and told my mother that I was allowed back in the house. I knew that getting this piercing would cause an uproar, but for some reason I could never imagine my father saying the hurtful things he said.
What I find most odd is that if you ask anyone who knows me, they can attest to my moral character. I do not drink or smoke, in fact I usually the designated driver for my friends. I am generally a very polite and good kid, even for the simplest of things, I know when to be thankful for what I have. I just find it odd that my father would boot me out of the house for getting a piercing when there are things out there I could be doing that are illegal, destructive and potentially dangerous. But he broke, and I'm back in the house, he knew he was wrong to make me leave the house, he knows I'm a good kid and everybody keeps telling me that even through all this crazy shit, he loves me. Whether I believe that or not is irrelevant because I am a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. I just hope in the time I have left at home, my father's actions and my actions can coexist and we can maybe both grow from this ordeal.