I remember when I was a kid just how much my dad hated me dying my hair. Mom, predictably, didn't have a problem with it - but dad? He wouldn't outright say anything, but he would subtly drop a jab at my mother's parenting skills by asking her "And you think this is appropriate?" or " You find nothing wrong with her going out like this?". And then he'd sulk. Scoff at me combing my hair, roll his eyes when I'd receive a compliment. Ya know, benign passive-aggressive stuff.

And this went on for years.

Then one day, when I was 18-ish, I got a bottle of jack from his stash, a clean hypodermic needle, got drunk (legal on this side of the pond), and pierced my brow. I was planning it for months, got the piercing, the needle, did some albeit superficial research and .... voila. Brow piercing.

It hurt, an ungodly amount because dumbass me didn't take into account the fact that the piercing was thicker in girth than the god damn hole the tinny, over-the-counter, needle left behind. So, I had to push. It turned out amazing. I was proud as hell - I even took pictures of the process.

To this day, and mind you I am nearly thirty, I can't explain why the fuck I didn't just go to a shop to get it done. But eh. Them' the rebellious breaks I suppose.

The next day, predictably, my family found out. My dad's reaction was however priceless: he took one look at me, kept quiet whilst I showed him the pictures, nodded and said "That's metal. Looks cool as hell on you."

Mom got lightheaded and damn near missed the chair on her way down.

My point is, dad's need to get used to you growing up. He recently explained that it took a while to realize that his parenting worked, and he really did raise a strong, independent, woman. And that by shrugging off his remarks regarding my looks I was in fact subtly proving to him that I could face the consequences of my own actions even if I didn't have his blessing while doing it.

I have a cool dad. And you probably do to. Just give him time.