Alex is intelligent. This isn't simple parental bias: Alex's intelligence is quantifiable and has propelled him to do things sooner than other kids his age. He spoke early, he walked early, he potty-trained very early. He was encouraged to skip grades from second grade onward, but resisted until junior high. He understand things I cannot begin to comprehend, and he has the ability to speak about those things on a level that astounds adults who share his intelligence, and he can translate most of those things into simple English that the rest of us can understand.

We take Alex's intelligence for granted; the boy is smart, he understands logic and rules, and even if he disagrees with those rules, for the most part he doesn't give us a hard time about them

So I am having a particularly difficult time understanding how someone whose intelligence has been described as "scary smart" can so something so utterly, profoundly stupid, and then believe that he could hide it from his parents for the rest of his teen years.

Alex, fourteen year old Alex, got a tattoo.

While I have serious issues with the artist who did this, I have bigger issues with my son. I know (and Alex knows) that he doesn't look fourteen; he can easily pass for seventeen, and if he hasn't shaved, he looks older.

Two weeks ago on Friday he was running late and didn't shave before school; I got a call from the office to bring him a razor, but it was already after lunch and I politely declined. One afternoon of stubble was not going to bring the school to its knees. Saturday morning he didn't bother shaving; he had plans to go shopping with a couple of friends, and his girlfriend thinks it's cute when he has stubble.

By Saturday afternoon, he obviously felt like he could pass for old enough.

Today, two weeks later, I walked into the bathroom after he had showered and found a container of Tattoo Goo on the counter. It did not register at first; after all, Char and I both have ink and have used it. It didn't occur to me for nearly an hour that that last time either of us needed tattoo ointment was last May.

My fury erupted with my realization; I'm not proud of it, but I totally lost my shit over this. I've never spanked any of the kids, I've never thought of hitting them; I don't grab, shove, push or pull them. But this afternoon I barged into my oldest son's room and pulled him off his bed by the front of his shirt and told him to take it off, or I would.

On the back of his left shoulder is a nearly healed red cross. If he were eighteen, I'd have absolutely no issues with this, but he's only fourteen. He knows better than this and he had to know how I would react.

His response to why?

You'd just say no.

No shit, Sherlock.

I have no idea what we'll do from here, other than making him cancel his date for tonight. Yes, I'll be having an up close and personal discussion with the person who did the tattoo, but there lies less blame there than with Alex.

Really, how in the hell did he think he could hide it for the next four years?