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My granddaughter, Caraline, was excited to show off her newly pierced ears the other day. She danced around pointing to the sparkling pink stones in her ears, "Look, Nanny, I got my ears pierced".

I remember my first attempt to have my ears pierced. I didn't have the money to get them done professionally so my Aunt Reeder Faye, volunteered her services free of charge. I was so ecstatic that she was kind enough to offer that I forgot to ask about the "do it yourself at home piercing procedure".

I walked through the front door of my aunt's home expecting to leave the same way but wearing beautiful new earrings. I calmly perched on her kitchen countertop while she held ice cubes on either side of my earlobe to deaden the area so there would be less pain when the actual piercing took place. It was uncomfortable but I perservered dreaming of dazzling ears. Finally, my aunt determined the popsicles that were once my earlobes were ready to be pierced. I waited anticipating the moment when she would hand me the mirror to admire her handiwork.

She reached behind me and drew out a needle that was longer than her little finger and as big around as the Winston cigarettes my momma loved to smoke. "Whoa, wait a minute! WHAT THE HECK IS THAT THING," I screamed, as I ran out the back door and down the hill, across the highway until I reached a place where there were no lunatic aunts yielding giant needles with plans to stab young girls in the ear. Home, sweet home.

I'm not running from anyone these days and home is a different place. One thing remains the same, I still feel safer when I'm home than any where else in the world.