At Justice Street Elementary, we culminated from sixth grade into junior high (seventh grade). All I cared about that summer was getting my ears pierced. My closest friend, Lisa, already had hers pierced (in a doctor’s office with a needle).
My parents gave me a pair of self-piercing earrings. They were small hoops with a needle-like tip at one end and a small loop on the other. The idea was that every day I would squeeze the earrings. Little by little the needle end of the hoop would eventually pierce all the way through the lob.
Eventually, the ears were pierced. It was a rite of passage. Today, most women I talk to about getting their ears pierced have a story to go with it. When I smell rubbing alcohol, it takes me back to the summer of 1973.
During my senior year in high school, I decided to double-pierce my left lob. I can’t remember what possessed me to do it. It wasn’t as though, “Everyone is doing it.” I didn’t ask permission. I just did it, with a needle. It hurt. What hurt more was trying to get an earring through the hole. It was a struggle! (My parents never knew.)
Fast-forward twenty years, summer of 2008. I decided, after a major personal achievement in my life, it was time for another piercing in left lob. This time it was done with a piercing gun. It didn’t hurt but felt like a big tug.
I’m done with piercing my ears. I can’t explain why I have 3 holes in one ear and only one in the other. Yet, getting them pierced has had significant meaning in my life. For gals my age, we all have our ear piercing stories to share.
