timknox Tim Knox is a nationally known entrepreneur, speaker, and author. For more please visit http://www.timknox.com View all articles | Contact author

Case in point: my eighteen year old daughter, Chelsea, decided that the world would come to a screeching halt if she didn't get her belly button pierced. Yes, I said, "belly button pierced," which to me sounds about as sane as "having your head waxed," but I'm told belly button piercing is all the rage, even with girls whose bellies should never be exposed under penalty of law (you know who you are, ladies).

Now I personally don't see the logic in having holes poked in your body other than those that the good Lord put there in the first place, but according to my daughter, "Daddy, all the girls are getting their belly buttons pierced."

To which I replied, "If all the girls were having their heads waxed and painted blue would you want to do that, too?"

To which she replied, "Dad, you're an idiot." When she switches from "Daddy" to "Dad" I know I'm in trouble.

The conversation just went downhill from there and as usual I lost the argument when she used the magic words, "Mom said it was OK with her if it was OK with you." Man, I hate it when the ball is bounced back into my court and I don't know how to hit it.

So I replied, "If your Mom waxed her head and painted it blue..."

Now if I've learned anything in my life it is this: when "Mom says its OK" that either mean it's really OK or it isn't really OK and she's putting the bad guy hat on me and I'm supposed to put my foot down and say no. Since her mother wasn't around to give me hand signals and calling her to verify the story would have meant that I didn't trust my sweet daughter (so I was told) I had to take her at her word. I gave my blessing to said piercing and wished her well.
Then the kicker came when she said "And Mom said you should go with me to have it done."

Now I was with this child when she rode her first bike, when she put on her first pair of skates, when she danced her first dance with a boy (I still hate that kid), and when she bought her first brassiere (that's a whole other column), but I never thought I would have to hold her hand while she got a loop of surgical steel poked through her belly button. I wasn't sure I could watch such a thing without doing something violent to the person making my baby uncomfortable, but the duties of the modern father never end.

So off we go to a tattoo/piercing parlor. I have to be honest, I fully expected to walk into a place so dank and dirty that I would have grounds to kibosh this whole belly button piercing thing. To my surprise we walked into a facility that was well decorated and brightly lit, and probably more sterile and professionally run than most hospitals.

We were warmly greeted by a young fellow who was tattooed and pierced like a walking billboard to his industry. He had a thick hoop dangling from his nostrils, which I assume his wife used to hook a rope to and pull him around with, kind of like leading a brightly painted bull. First impressions go both ways: I'm sure he was wondering what this redneck wearing a Hawaiian shirt and torn jeans and cowboy boots was doing in his store.

Then I realized he was an entrepreneur (we can spot each other) and I immediately pulled out my microscope to inspect him and his business. Tattoos and nose hoops aside, he was friendly, knowledgeable, professional, and supportive of his customer's needs. As I looked around the waiting area I could tell that his business was well-run and designed to make his customers feel confident and comfortable at the same time.

The girl (an employee as equally friendly as her boss) who actually did the piercing was meticulous and thorough and highly trained, and took more time consulting with my daughter than any doctor has ever spent talking to me. She made sure Chelsea and I understood the entire process and the ramifications. Only when she was convinced that Chelsea was satisfied with her choice did the piercing begin.

In the end, Chelsea got her belly button ring and I got my first exposure to an entrepreneur of another kind. Maybe I'll get my belly button pierced. I'd look good with one of those big old lion head knockers like you see on the doors at church hanging over my belt.

Anyway, all's well that ends well. Then her mother called…