Seems the topic of tattoos has popped up a lot in the past few days, even
before I made the blog about my nickname.
As I work in the boutique I see so many people every day & tattoos seems so common place now. But I can remember when there were still pretty taboo. 20 years ago or so. Now, as I write this, I realize I'm showing my age, but it's still a pretty funny tale.
I got my 1st tattoo at the ripe old age of twenty. To be honest I'd given it a full two years of thought before I committed. That was the day I found out how addicting and beautiful skin art can be. To date I have seven, inducing a fairly large piece on my arm, that was the evolution of my 2nd tattoo. Over the years I have been asked thousands of times about my skin art. Questions like: does it hurt? Why that symbol? How long have you had it? Twenty two years later & I have no regrets. I love my ink and would never think of covering it with clothing or having it removed.
One question that always made me chuckle was: What's going to happen when your old? Do you think you'll still be happy to have your tattoos? Truth be told - if your thinking of that before you've even gotten a tattoo - DON'T GET ONE.
As for my answer to the questions, I never really gave it much thought until someone provided me with an answer a few years ago.
I was at a beach party, bonfire blazing, stars blinking to their own music overhead. It was a gathering of close friends, nothing big. One of those gatherings where it seems that magic happens as the hands of the clock sweep past midnight. There were guitars being strummed softly, seeming in tune with the palm trees that swayed in the trade wind coming off the ocean. Despite the late hour and probably due to the fire, the sand still retain some warmth as tanned toes burrowed under the surface. The ages ranged from 21 up to 60.
As resumed my place next to the bonfire after a quick walk through the surf, the firelight danced across the large tattoo on my upper left arm, catching the attention of one the older members of the group. She made a comment about regretting never getting a tattoo. I grinned and promptly told her it was NEVER too late. I used my mom as an example. My mom had been 70 when she’d had permanent eyeliner tattooed around her eyes and a beauty mark above her lip. Her tattoo artist had been mine & it had been a special moment for us. I never thought I would have had a bonding moment with my mom with tattoos, but hey, you just never know.
As I gave my example her son chimed in stating he would love if it she got a tattoo. Having several himself, he wanted to share the experience with her. In all honesty he thought it would be so cool. We all smiled, nodding in agreement that if she wanted to get a tattoo she should go ahead with it. Then we fell silent, gazing into the fire, lost in our own thoughts. The son then spoke again to his mother. He said it would be awesome if she had a tattoo because when she was very old and ready for a nursing home – no longer able to talk, she would automatically be assigned to the area with all the other tattooed seniors & wouldn’t have to worry about being alone or bored.
This garnered a general chuckle & a snort from me. The idea had merit! It was a guaranteed way to spend your final days with the so called ‘cool kids’. The mental images that popped into my head had me doubled over in laughter. The first image was of me & several of my dear tattooed friends in electric wheelchairs & scooters raising hell around the corridors of some facility. I could clearly picture the light of delight & devilishness in our eyes as we whooped and hollered our way around the building, our powered chairs & scooters leaving tire treads in the pristine halls as the staff gave chase. Another image was a group of about ten seniors all in one corner, laughing a whooping as they shared their life stories. The stories including some ribald remarks, re-tellings of: This one night….and so much more.
As I laughed I remembered the questions asked to many several times about what I would do about my tattoos when I was old…& I had found my answer. I would enjoy them ‘til my dying day, proudly hanging with the ‘cool kids’.
As I work in the boutique I see so many people every day & tattoos seems so common place now. But I can remember when there were still pretty taboo. 20 years ago or so. Now, as I write this, I realize I'm showing my age, but it's still a pretty funny tale.
I got my 1st tattoo at the ripe old age of twenty. To be honest I'd given it a full two years of thought before I committed. That was the day I found out how addicting and beautiful skin art can be. To date I have seven, inducing a fairly large piece on my arm, that was the evolution of my 2nd tattoo. Over the years I have been asked thousands of times about my skin art. Questions like: does it hurt? Why that symbol? How long have you had it? Twenty two years later & I have no regrets. I love my ink and would never think of covering it with clothing or having it removed.
One question that always made me chuckle was: What's going to happen when your old? Do you think you'll still be happy to have your tattoos? Truth be told - if your thinking of that before you've even gotten a tattoo - DON'T GET ONE.
As for my answer to the questions, I never really gave it much thought until someone provided me with an answer a few years ago.
I was at a beach party, bonfire blazing, stars blinking to their own music overhead. It was a gathering of close friends, nothing big. One of those gatherings where it seems that magic happens as the hands of the clock sweep past midnight. There were guitars being strummed softly, seeming in tune with the palm trees that swayed in the trade wind coming off the ocean. Despite the late hour and probably due to the fire, the sand still retain some warmth as tanned toes burrowed under the surface. The ages ranged from 21 up to 60.
As resumed my place next to the bonfire after a quick walk through the surf, the firelight danced across the large tattoo on my upper left arm, catching the attention of one the older members of the group. She made a comment about regretting never getting a tattoo. I grinned and promptly told her it was NEVER too late. I used my mom as an example. My mom had been 70 when she’d had permanent eyeliner tattooed around her eyes and a beauty mark above her lip. Her tattoo artist had been mine & it had been a special moment for us. I never thought I would have had a bonding moment with my mom with tattoos, but hey, you just never know.
As I gave my example her son chimed in stating he would love if it she got a tattoo. Having several himself, he wanted to share the experience with her. In all honesty he thought it would be so cool. We all smiled, nodding in agreement that if she wanted to get a tattoo she should go ahead with it. Then we fell silent, gazing into the fire, lost in our own thoughts. The son then spoke again to his mother. He said it would be awesome if she had a tattoo because when she was very old and ready for a nursing home – no longer able to talk, she would automatically be assigned to the area with all the other tattooed seniors & wouldn’t have to worry about being alone or bored.
This garnered a general chuckle & a snort from me. The idea had merit! It was a guaranteed way to spend your final days with the so called ‘cool kids’. The mental images that popped into my head had me doubled over in laughter. The first image was of me & several of my dear tattooed friends in electric wheelchairs & scooters raising hell around the corridors of some facility. I could clearly picture the light of delight & devilishness in our eyes as we whooped and hollered our way around the building, our powered chairs & scooters leaving tire treads in the pristine halls as the staff gave chase. Another image was a group of about ten seniors all in one corner, laughing a whooping as they shared their life stories. The stories including some ribald remarks, re-tellings of: This one night….and so much more.
As I laughed I remembered the questions asked to many several times about what I would do about my tattoos when I was old…& I had found my answer. I would enjoy them ‘til my dying day, proudly hanging with the ‘cool kids’.
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