Disappointment

At sixteen, my parents had only told me off seriously very few
times. In
fact it had probably been several years since I had been told off at
all. So I had grown up, grown up past the raised voices and threats of
stopping pocket money. It was worse than that when it eventually
happened.
It may well sound like I was one of those yucky children who say, "Bye
mummy, I love you," every morning as they leave the door, but I wasn't.
There was a mutual agreement between my parents and myself; that if I
behaved as a mature and sensible person, they would treat me as one.
This treatment consisted of being allowed to go out on Saturdays
without being interrogated and being allowed to visit friends in London
on my own from the age of 12: More liberal treatment than that which my
peers received from their suspicious and un-trusting parents. This
system appeared to work, as I behaved well and got to go out, and there
was hardly ever cause for a raised voice.
But the torment was to come. One Sunday afternoon, my friend Kayleigh
and I were at another friend, Ren's house in order to do some last
minute revision for our GCSE French oral. We decided to put off the
revision until El, the last friend, arrived; any excuse for avoiding
the french! Eventually she arrived, and the usual ritual of hugs and,
"hi, how are yous?" commenced. The look on her face after we had
finished was one of a secret waiting to be told. She lifted up her top
to reveal a sapphire coloured stud in her belly button, newly put in
the day before. Our surprise was obvious as we all swamped round to get
a good look at it, shrieking in the way only girls do. After the
excitement had died down, we forced ourselves to do some French. Whilst
we weren't revising that afternoon, we discussed belly button piercing,
and it was during such discussions that I decided I would get mine done
too.
The day's revision came and went, and in its place came the nerves of
exams. On the journey home from the station, I bought the idea of the
piercing up with my mum. When asked if I could get it done, she replied
"it is better to have it done there than elsewhere, I suppose." That
made up my mind: I was going to get it done.
Monday morning, and with bated breath I told all those I could what I
was going to do. When Kayleigh told the school gossip, she said, "
Sensible Katherine is going to get her belly button done??" Kayleigh
replied that yes, she was. Overhearing this conversation only further
fuelled my desire for the piercing: if people didn't expect it, so much
the better. So, at the end of school, Kayleigh and I snuck down to the
tattoo shop to get it done. Hyped up with adrenaline second hand from
my French oral and first hand from my nervous fear, I rounded the
corner 100m before the shop, its neon light glaring through the window.
As we got nearer, my adrenaline turned to disappointment as it flooded
through my veins: it was closed.
Much upset later, we rounded that corner again 24 hours later: this
time the shop was open. I asked the man with the green hair and holes
through ears, eyebrow and nose could I please have my belly button
pierced. My school uniform and accent caused much mirth from the
tatooist in the next room, but one consent form later, I was taken into
a back room that smelt of surgical spirit and placed on a padded bench.
On instruction, I lifted up my top with shaky hands (El had said it
hurt). I began to loosen up as the green haired man and I talked the
usual babble about school and life, at the same time, a huge needle,
not dissimilar to a knitting needle, was being pushed through my belly.
It felt a little weird, I can tell you! But I walked out with a huge
grin on my face: I had done it!
As we got off the bus, my sister and I giggled nervously, what was dad
going to say? I got into the car awkwardly, told Dad how my terminal
art exam had gone, told him how I had decided to reward myself with
some chicken nuggets from McDonalds, and added I had got my belly
button pierced. An awkward silence followed, in which father
disapproved of daughter but didn't know how to be tactful, and daughter
waited to hear praise for her audacious behaviour. Neither got what
they wanted. "Its disgusting, it's what all your stereotypical teenage
girls have done." He remarked. I sighed, not the praise I expected, but
then it was dad. When we got home, I peeled off the bandage that the
piercer had put on my stomach to help stop the blood from getting on my
clothes. "Look, Look!" I cried. My sister leaned in close to have a
peek, and dad walked off with his eyes closed as tight as they would
go, a gesture I had never seen him do before. "I'm not squeamish," he
said, "but I just feel it is really sluttish."
Mum returned home to see a bouncing sixteen year old. "I take it the
art went ok," she said. I nodded, and then with a look rather like the
one Eleanor had on on Sunday, I lifted my top. She didn't know what to
say: sensible Katherine had done something so insensible that no remark
was possible. After a moments silence she said in a calm voice
"Katherine, to tell you the honest truth, I'm disappointed."
That evening I repeated that phrase over and over in my head: I had
disappointed my mother. The bellybutton may well be stereotypical of
teenage girls, but my desire to disappoint my parents was not the same
as those girls. Like a faithful dog, all I wanted to do was please, to
make my parents proud of the being they had created. Those dreams
appeared to have gone out of the window sooner than I had realised they
were there. That comment, so unlike my mother to make, had burned me
hotter that a poker, slapped me harder than the back of a hand and
kicked me inside where no foot could reach. I had been punished in a
way that was harder to bear than any smack or scold: I was given adult
independence by my parents, but there was no purposeful punishment for
my silly behaviour, all I was given was the truth, which hurt me
more.