In my last post I talked about my mom’s reaction to my tattoos. And how I found out that getting inked runs in the family.
Things are substantially different between me and my daughter, lemme tellya. My daughter has two tattoos, an elaborate knotwork circle on her left leg (designed by a former Significant Other) and an
armband she designed herself, that includes her great-grandmother’s totem animal, the red-tailed hawk.
Individually and collectively, she and I occasionally get asked what the other thinks about her tattoos. I know that a lot of parents (of all ages) are like mine and won’t countenance inking, and many’s the kid who waits only long enough to be barely legal to hit the nearest tattoo parlor in defiance of Mom and Dad. The down side to this is that kids end up with designs they’ve barely thought through (if they’ve thought it through at all) and some of the so-there-parents ink I’ve seen has been, well, truly unfortunate. The kind of thing the kid’s going to quietly go get erased just as soon as he or she is out of the house.
I am happy to say, though, that the situation is not like that between my daughter and me. She liked my tattoos and she wanted some of her own. She waited, somewhat impatiently, till she was of legal age… and then she and I went to the fabulous Zulu Tattoo and got inked together.
And then a couple years later we did it again. That, I think, is mother-daughter bonding at its finest.
My daughter says that if I go get inked again, she has to go too. I think that’s a fair bargain. I just wonder if I’ll be able to keep my part of it sometime in the future.