Tattoo

When I was growing up, the only tattoo I ever saw was the one on my cousin Tony’s arm. My cousin is 17 years older and served in WWII on a naval carrier. His tattoo is on the inside of his left arm, a Navy man in a hula skirt, shirtless, wearing a sailor’s hat. When he moved his arm around, the sailor did a hula dance. I thought that was pretty cool! Anytime I would see a tattoo, it would always remind me of Tony’s.

I forgot about tattoos when I had my 9 children. They kept me too busy to even remember a tattoo. Of my 9 kids/ my one son took a trip to California and came back with a Tasmanian She Devil tattoo. Then he got a wolf tattoo. Slowly, others in the family followed, and now 6 of my kids sport tattoos. Some have one and others have multiples.

The first couple of tattoos sent their Dad over the edge. I just kept quiet. Why bother, it was too late to say anything. I remember I did ask what I thought was an important question, “Was the needle in a sterile package before they used it on you?”

I listened to my ex go on about bodies being the Temple of the Holy Spirit and who were they to defile it! Yeah, whatever! I’m sure that went over their heads.

Then one summer after, I had graduated from Grad School, I celebrated that fact at the beach with my oldest daughter and a daughter in law. The three of us drove to Vilas, New Jersey and got tattoos.

Afterwards at the beach house, where my son was babysitting three little kids, in frustration he asked me, just like a crazy parent, “Are you crazy! What were you thinking? Are you in a midlife crisis? Remember, your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit! Was the needle sterile?”

My answers would have been, “Yes. Nothing. Yes. Yes. And Yes.”

But before I could respond my son, with a twinkle in his eye, and a big smile, gave me a high five and said, “Nice Tat, Mom!"