Tattoos. Ink cover arms, ribs, feet, backs and legs in shades of blues, blacks, reds, purples and faded yellows. Names, words, symbols and lost faces of people or moments that triggered that image to be remembered forever!Forever!
Yeas ago, women often got ink to cover scars from child birth or injury. Service men to show the pain of war.
As a first responder, I’ve seen years of ink spread over miles of skin. Old and young. Military, gangs, moms, grandparents and grandchildren (do you really think your grandma would have wanted her name across your chest?), frat boys and athletes.
Random cartoons, animals and symbols in a language Iknew they didn’t speak.
Often, when I got to these people, their canvas, their stories were spread on their naked bodies like an art exhibit. Sometimes beautiful and detailed and others confusing. “What the hell were you thinking?”
On bad days, these works of art were torn, shredded, ripped by road rash, knives and circumstances that were not planned.
Their ART was supposed to be forever, but often not.
My good friend, who’s 32, has hundreds of tattoos. She’s got two full sleeves, her back, hands, neck and most of both legs. The stories she will share with her little girl someday.
She is one of the most beautiful women I know.
She radiates confidence with her flawless face and bright smile. I asked her how old she was when she got her first tattoo.
She said with a giggle, “15, it was a silly tat”
It was now covered with an elaborate mermaid riding a fearless serpentine.
I asked her why she loves tattoos.
“I see beautiful images that make me happy. I turn them into tattoos and when I see them on my body–They make me happy.”
That simple!! They make me Happy.
My 20 year old daughter got a tattoo this weekend. She txt me a drawing on a piece of paper to see what I thought.
I thought she was Christmas shopping with friends. That’s what I thought!
At first I didn’t even see the image, because I was only focused on the brown salon chair and medical tray in the background. Obviously she’s at the tattoo parlor and it’s too late. It’s gonna happen.
“Do you like it?” she ask in a txt.
Needles, Hep C, Ink, Forever! INK!
On my little girl’s body.
Here’s a Mommy Moment – in a damn txt.
Would I be Supportive, Critical or just Neutral?
“Are you sure?” I calmly typed.
My daughter comes back with, “This girl is here getting her tattoo fixed. She has two dog paw prints on her ass with “Do it doggie style” across her butt cheeks.” HaHa. Big mistake!!
You think!! I had to laugh because I’m sure that girl didn’t give her parents a heads up before that one. I considered myself lucky for a moment.
“Honey- I like it. It’s simple and classic- I think it would look great on your foot.”
Farthest from the rest of her body. Shoes are my friend.
“That’s what I thought” as she beams in a text with emojis!!! smiley face.
“Does it make you happy when you look at it?”
That’s what I needed to hear.
I often look at this jagged scar on my arm that looks like I tried to off myself, but reminds me of a bad car day with a good outcome- the doctors saved my arm
– would it be something I cover with ink to bring a smile to my face.
Would ink make me Happy?