I got my first tattoo when I was eighteen and still in high school. They warned me when I got my first one that they were addictive, and that soon I would be back for more. I scoffed at this suggestion, like most eighteen year olds do.
But in the end, they were right.
When my dad found out that the sun on the inside of my ankle was real and not a temporary tattoo, he called me an asshole and didn’t speak to me for two weeks.
I didn’t get my second tattoo until ten years later and then it was another three years before the next.
I’m about to get my seventh tattoo this weekend.
Over the years I’ve gotten mixed reactions on them. People either love tattoos, would love to have tattoos, or they loathe them. Like, psychotically loathe them.
Now here’s the thing. I don’t begrudge anyone for their opinions about tattoos. Quite the contrary – we’re all allowed our opinions. However, much like in everything else in life, just because you have an opinion does not make that opinion fact. Because you like/don’t like tattoos does not make that opinion universal. And yes, I am aware that they are permanent, and when I am an old woman I will still have these designs under my skin.
If you hate them – super duper. Just don’t begrudge me mine. Or judge me for them. Or look at me down the length of your nose as if I’m a lesser being for expressing myself in such a way. Tattooing goes back thousands of years and has become extremely popular over the years. My one lament is that perhaps people don’t always put a ton of thought into the designs they choose for themselves, such as the overwhelming number of Tazmanian Devil tattoos, but to each their own.
My tattoos are part of who I am – part of the essence of who I am. This thought process doesn’t always apply to everyone who gets them (read: Popeye, Tweety Bird, Taz, the list goes on) – but then again, maybe it does.
The designs I’ve chosen over the years have all been significant to me, to my own journey through life. My tattoos help to tell the story of who I am, of what’s crucial and important to me.
My first tattoo at eighteen was, as I mentioned, a sun. The significance behind that choice was that the sun is the sustainer of life. The year prior, I spent two weeks in the hospital and two months out of school with meningitis. I almost died. It was the same illness that had killed my younger brother years before. Living through that gave me an appreciation for life, for treasuring each day I was granted. Hence, my tattoo choice.
The second one I got may seem at the outset to be a “nerd” tattoo. It’s a pseudo-Celtic knot design which actually comes from Doctor Who (for any Whovians, it’s the Seal of Rassilon). The choice here was because I really liked the design but also, it represented my friendship/relationship with my now ex-husband. Despite the fact that we’ve been divorced for approaching six years, his friendship was – and is – still very important to me. He added a lot to my life and who I am as a person. I am glad though that I didn’t get his name. That would have been a bit much.
I got my third tattoo a few months after my son was born. It’s the zodiac signs for me, my husband and my son, a nice representation of my family, the absolute most important facet of who I am and my highest priority.
Fourth were roman numerals of two years – 1979 and 1984 – for the year my brother was born and the year he died. His life and the loss of it contributed more than I can describe to the person I am today.
Fifth was a phoenix. The significance is obvious, though I did once explain it to my boss as “rising above personal bullshit”, which is, I think, sort of crassly elegant and succinct.
I almost lost track here and had to mentally recount them all by placement. Is that a sign that I have too many?
The sixth and most recent is the phrase “Illegitimi Non Carborundum”, which is mock Latin for “Don’t let the bastards grind you down”. It’s close to a phrase from Margaret Atwood’s “Handmaid’s Tale” and was something a friend of mine posted online that just stuck with me. Words have power. And these words, having these words inked on my skin, have been extremely helpful and extraordinarily empowering in reminding me to hold my head high, no matter what those surrounding me say or do. It helps me to rise above more bullshit.
These words and images are a physical and outer manifestation of who I am on the inside, something I’m not always adept at conveying. They represent important events and people in my life so far.
There’s always the question of “When will you be done?” In truth – I don’t know. I’ll be done with tattoos when I feel I’m done. And I can’t give more of an answer than that.
Of course, another prickly point with this subject is the fact that I’m a girl. And evidently, according to some social guidelines to which I hold no allegiance, girls should not have so many tattoos.
To that line of thinking I’d like to give a proper, “Go pound sand”.
Personally, I’m not over-fond of the notion that, because I happen to be a girl (woman), there are certain things I should or should not do. I don’t necessarily need to blaze a trail but please don’t put your standards on me.
I do have the presence of mind, given the stigma attached to tattoos in general, to place them on my body where they can be, if the need arises, hidden. Bracelets, long hair, shoes that cover the top of my feet, and general clothing mask them all.
I have tattoos but am not in a gang. I have never been to prison. I don’t own a motorcycle. I don’t believe they truly make me any less of a woman. I have no desire to tattoo a puzzle onto my face or get as many as Kat Von D but again, those were their choices. I may or may not agree with them but I can’t say as I would call anyone an asshole for getting a tattoo.
I’d call someone an asshole for running a red light, shoplifting, or in general doing something bad. I don’t believe that tattoos make you bad. My only recommendation is to think about what you’re getting before you get it. That’s all. Beyond that, you’re on your own.
I would absolutely love – LOVE! – to get the thoughts/opinions/experiences of others who do and don’t have tattoos and those who hate them. It’s not a hot button issue in this country – hell, don’t we have enough other problems these days for sure – but just something that, for some reason, I felt compelled to write a little dissertation on. Cuz that’s what I do.
