To Tat or Not to Tat

I have pondered the “To Tat or Not to Tat” question throughout the last ten years of my life. I never had the temptation to go under the ink-filled needle until my mid-thirties. Why now? Peer pressure. From my best friend to my sister, the demographic for tattoos is certainly wider…and older.

When we were young and stupid – some people call this college – we pierced a lot of places and hung safety pins from the holes. I think at one point in 1982, I had a grand total of 4 holes in my left ear, 1 in my right, and proudly sported a nose ring. This combined with my two-tier blonde and fuchsia bob, fishnet hosiery and sequined eyelids, I had morphed myself into a Midwest Kim Wilde (those born before 1950 and after 1970 may want to Google her); Kim Wilde wasn’t just a pseudonym, it was a way of living.

But tattoo?….only Vietnam vets and convicts did that.

When my son turned 18, he practically ran to the nearest tattoo parlor. I didn’t just tag along; I drove the car. I was there for all the other celebrations of marking his body: his birth, butter-flying his thigh shut after a deep cut and the piercing of an ear in middle school. I was going to painfully participate in this too. I realize that one of the reasons that Tyler was so adamant about getting inked up was that - well -he could….and without my permission. So, I have to think it a small victory that I was even told the time and place of the permanent physical marking.

I offered three suggested thoughts – a tattoo parlor is no place one uses the word “rules.”

1. No cute little cartoon character. One may feel like the Tasmanian Devil as you tear through life, but when you are applying for a job that has a real salary with benefits attached, a small African rodent peeking from under a pant leg doesn’t tell your future employer that you are a person one can trust with adult tasks and grown-up decisions.

2. Speaking of pant legs…put the tattoo someplace which is easily masked by clothing or hair. Tyler chose an interesting Celtic symbol, but - at first - he had it way down on his bicep too close to his elbow; if he was to have to sport – God forbid – a company polo shirt, the design would draw the wrong type of attention.

3. Avoid phrases and names. As the world turns, so does the tide of events. So even though the Beastie Boys’ “Fight for your right to party” serves your current mantra, times change, and so will your theme songs. And names? Unless you are biding homage to someone named Hope, Faith, Grace, Justice or Christian…do not set yourself up for disappointment.

I have never been comfortable enough in my skin to want to draw attention to any specific part of it. Also, I had trouble deciding and committing to just one salad dressing at lunch today; the thought of picking a design to sport through my geriatric years is just too…permanent.

However, if I had to pick today, I would probably go for the Chinese symbol for serenity. I would put it on my neck so that serenity would coat my brain and ooze down my spine. Also, it would serve as a bookmark for my favorite prayer:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things that I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can
And the wisdom to know the difference.