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"Mommy?" said a voice gone mushy from the other end of the phone. After all, it has been almost eight years since I got promoted (or demoted?) from Mommy to Mom. Now-a-days, my experience interprets an occasional "Mommy" as a flashing yellow sign, warning me to watch out for hidden objects I may collide into causing injury to myself, the other, or both. I tried to proceed with caution. This may have slowed me down because he had to make sure that I was still on the line.

He told me that he was coming home around five. I said OK. I asked how he did in his test. He said he thought he made an A. After the introductory small talk, I heard something like, "I got my RPA, Mom". Now, I must admit that I am quite illiterate when it comes to teenagerish, a language of its own. A sudden spill of teenagerish always makes me dizzy from the enormous pull between a strong desire to understand the child and a hopeless inability to do so. I was wondering what the acronym could possibly mean. We had talked about grades. Could it be something to do with grades? No, the grade acronym was GPA - grade point average. With the help of two or three 'what's, "RPA" slowly turned into "are peers" and finally resolved itself to "ear pierced," leaving me at a loss for words. My silence must have made him uncomfortable. "What's the matter?" "Aren't you going to bless it?" he ventured.

I don't remember what I said at the end of my silence. But it was nowhere near "I bless your newly pierced ear, my boy. May many fashionable earrings perch there in the coming years until you get sick of it." I did try not to yell out "How could you, without asking me?" and probably succeeded to some extent. I did not ask the name of the shop to storm into demanding why they pierced the ear of a minor without parental permission. The thought failed to meet the spontaneous demand and reserved itself for later. Had it occurred and found words to convey it, it would probably have been challenged by a frowning "Why?" or "Do I look like 16?" It is true that my son looks about five years older than his age and no one would ask for his id suspecting underage. In fact, the reverse has been true. Once, a few years ago, a train ticket inspector in India had given me a nasty "You don't have to buy a half ticket for your 15-year old to save a few bucks" look, forcing me to dangle my son's passport at his face. My son is mature, independent, responsible, and sensitive to others' needs and feelings. So what sentiment on my part was appropriate at this proclamation of proud ownership of his own earlobe? Obviously he was ready to experience any enjoyment and tackle any consequence a tiny hole in an ear could bring. He did not see a need for my permission but did expect my blessing.

Later on, for rumination, I tried to recollect the thoughts and feelings that had left me speechless. I couldn't. They must have rushed through at the speed of light without leaving any identifiable trail. In that still of the moment, did I see some scary future possibilities? Did a relatively harmless "I got my ear pierced" of today project itself into monstrous, multi-armed demons of tomorrow? Like "I converted to ---", or "I made --- pregnant", or "I am moving out with ---", or "--- and I got married"? It could happen, you know, a natural consequence of your choice of raising your child in a different society, and there is nothing you can do about it except blessing or not blessing. Those are the only two choices you have. Someone inside me had started lecturing like a mother, rubbing it in real hard. You gave birth, nourishment, and some values by example, some good, some bad. Now everything is up to him. Let go, he has to take control of his life starting with his ear. Let him experiment, make a few mistakes, and learn from them. A wise inner voice was reminding, a verse from Chaanakya Neeti, sound, practical advice from the royal advisor to king Chandragupta Maurya around 300 B.C., I had learned in my high school Sanskrit class.

Laalayet panchavarshaani, dasavarshaani taadayet
Praapte tu shodashevarshe putram mitravat aacharet

Cuddle and hug for the first five years, discipline for the next ten
But once your son is sixteen, treat him like your friend.

This parenting tool from Ancient India I have been carrying with me before I was sixteen. Today it is my privilege to use it with my 16-year-old, by treating him as a friend, by admiring his new hole in the ear with earring, acquired without parental permission, deemed unnecessary. The flashing yellow signal of a mushy "Mommy" from now on would mean, listen, take a deep breath, don't freak out, treat him like a friend. From now on, to bless or not to bless, will be the only question, although it may visit again and again in the guise of many different situations, just for fun.

Saheli is an all-volunteer non-profit support and advocacy organization for Asian families in Austin, Texas. Saheli's mission is to help victims and survivors of domestic violence to heal, and empower them to make choices for a life free of abuse. We spread awareness of various forms of oppression against women and children through community outreach and education. We form a bridge between the Asian community and local services to cross the culture gap. Saheli's vision is to work toward preventing abuse in family relationships, to break the cycle of violence and pursue a cycle of peace. For more information about Saheli, visit www.main.org/saheli
To contact us call (512) 703-8745
or send e-mail to: saheli@usa.net

Opinions expressed in this column are those of the authors alone.

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