July 2. Day 184. Dad's words ringing in my ears

My late father was pretty much a big softy. Play your cards right and you could twist Dad around your little finger. Normally. But very occasionally there were issues that it was made clear were completely non negotiable. No amount of begging, pleading, sulking or reasoning and no appeals to the higher authority (Mum) was going to make a difference. No meant no.
Ear piercing was one of these non negotiables. We were banned from having our ears pierced until our 18th birthdays.
Whenever the subject was raised (which was often) the same lines were trotted out: "I'd rather hear the ring of freedom in my ears than the ring of slavery through my nose".
Yes, so would I Dad, but exactly how that relates to ear piercing I still have no idea.
Sometimes we were told that if God had meant us to have pierced ears we would have been born with the holes.
Of course, following that argument if God had meant us to wear clothes we wouldn't have been born nude but this clearly was not an argument that was going to be won or lost on reason.
So we just waited out our 18 years and then rushed without delay to the ear piercing shop.
So I am just a little bit jealous of Vaeda. I ran into the two-and-a-half-year-old at the balloon modelling stand in the Queen Street Mall today where she was being presented with a balloon sculpture for being a brave girl when she had her ears pierced. There were no tears and a slight red tinge was the only sign of the recent procedure. Doesn't exactly look like a ringing endorsement for Dad's position now does it?