Not Even Not Zen 420: Biomythography - Note 132: The Earring, Part III

The Earring, Part III

A few weeks after I got my ear pierced I headed home for Thanksgiving. My mother met me as I walked up the drive to the front stoop. Her big smile twitched, for a moment.

"What’s that in your ear?" she asked on the porch.

"Oh yeah, the earring." I shifted my bags to get everything under one arm. I touched the gold stud. "Remember, I got one?"

It's hard to scowl and raise an eyebrow at the same time. She compromised on a skeptical frown. I had mentioned the piercing to my mother on a phone call but, apparently, she had put it out of her mind since then. After all, she couldn’t see it. Now she had to look and reevaluate. It took a second. She shrugged.

My father had the same warning. But he didn't seem to know what to say. He avoided looking at the earring for a while. As it turned out, he was taking the time to think of scathing remarks. He was pretty good at them, usually, but this time nothing he said was memorable. I recall him turning red-faced but there was not a thought he expressed that I hadn't expected.

The next day we had to drive to the Thanksgiving dinner at my grandmother’s. She lived on Shiley Street, in Annapolis. At the time, Annapolis was small. It supported a population of about 20,000 people. If you didn't stroll through the six blocks of downtown next to the bay, you wouldn't realize it was the Maryland state capital. The government offices consisted of a few colonial buildings that didn't look much different than the taverns, which were also colonial buildings. In contrast, the Naval Academy dominated the area. It took up more square acreage, more housing, and more dock space than any other business, including the state government. I think the Navy tried hard not to ignore the town, but it was so big and powerful and the town was so small. The Navy often made decisions as if the town were not there and the residents simply gritted their teeth.

Some of the Annapolis residents were still farmers. Most folks weren't, though, and so they lived in small, single homes bordering a river, a stream, or the Chesapeake Bay. They worked for the Navy, the phone company, or the state government. Some held the types of jobs necessary to support the local infrastructure, including the fishing industry, which to my childhood eyes seemed to mainly involve standing around talking about fish.

And Shiley Street, our destination, lay not far from Tolson Street, which was named after my Great Uncle Harry. So we had an extra connection. The town had decided to name an entire neighborhood of streets in East Annapolis after the local boys who had gone off to fight in World War II. They had survived D-Day together. Then they had also died together during the German counterstrike three days later. My grandmother took me on walks to show me the street and to talk about her brother. This tended to put things in perspective, although obviously not a perspective that prevented me from getting an earring.

In the neighborhood, my grandfather gardened an empty house plot. The neighbors seemed happy to let him have a half-acre farm that the absentee owner didn't know about, nor care. During our Thanksgivings, most of our produce — at least the green beans, lettuce, squash, radishes, and cucumbers — came from his garden harvest.

During my family's drive, I read books and played card games with my brothers. At my grandmother's front door, a few uncles noticed my earring. They had each prepared a one-liner about it, or it seemed, but not much more. They wouldn't get another chance for an hour, either, because my mother's extended family was too big for us to all occupy one table.

On the other hand, they would have time  to think.

At my grandma's, we had to sit by age groups. We had a long table for adults and a round table for children. Despite being in college, I had a perpetual place at the kids' table, which was technically about half filled with adults at this point. Within a few years, I would start to grow grateful for the young adults table, where the conversations grew interesting. Even early on, I could see the potential.

The younger folks had a different reaction to my earring. They shrugged. The younger girls weren't allowed earrings yet so they asked if it hurt to get one.  

Our meal itself was cooked in English family style, which meant all the vegetables were boiled. To this day, I still like boiled green beans. I'm fine with most boiled or canned vegetables, not that I get to eat them much anymore. Butter was our main spice. However, we had personal access to more exotic seasonings, if by exotic you mean salt.

After the meal, I met Uncle Mike as we marched from opposite tables to converge on the pumpkin pie. It was the one vegetable not boiled and we were pretty motivated by it.

“That's damn sissy,” he said, looking at the earring. He jostled my elbow and I did it right back. I knew the main reason Mike had graduated to the adult table was that he'd insisted on it. He also got married, which helped. He had a sort of twinkle in his eye as he tried to tease me, though, because at his core, he sort of liked any form of rebellion even when he didn't agree with it.

“Mostly girls like it," I replied. "Guys think it’s queer, of course.”

“Of course. Don't you worry about that?”

I grunted but I knew he was looking for words so I added, “Why would I care what guys think?”

He accepted that summary. Like most of my relatives, he already knew what I thought of their opinions. I suppose it’s a lesson in laying the proper groundwork.  

“Have you got in any fights over it yet?” He clearly looked forward to them.

“Not yet.” We both laughed.

"You will," he promised. And he was right. We both knew it was coming.