My Tattoo

Well, I finally did it...

Most of my life, I have tossed around the thought of getting a tattoo. I've even went as far as sitting in the chair at a place, but never went through with it.

For me, there were several reasons I always held back, but it was never about the pain. I have a very high threshold, and knew I would be able to handle it.

Instead, my reasons were always more sensible in nature, plus one very traumatic one.

First, I was always concerned with finding a design that held some sort of meaning for me personally, as well as spoke to who I am (or who I would like to be). Since I spent so much of my lifetime not really sure of who that was exactly, I couldn't decide on what to get.

Second, I knew that I needed something that I would be able to stand looking at when I'm 80. Tattoos are for a lifetime, and to me there's nothing sadder than the thought of a senior citizen with something like "Thug Life" inked across his forehead.

Which brings me to number three: If I'm going to permanently mark my body, I wanted to be certain it looked good. I can't tell you how many people I've known with "jail house" (cheaply and unprofessionally drawn) tattoos that you can't even identify what it was supposed to be. Their skin ends up looking like a 4 year old's doodle pad, or worse.

And the final (and most traumatic) reason was: I had a physically and emotionally abusive father as a child, who just so happened to have a heart and roses tattooed on his shoulder. In his more vicious moments, I can remember him patting his tattoo and growling at me that it was the "second worst mistake he ever made", and that he was talking to the first. Even though I'm grown and haven't spoken to him in decades, that kind of thing scars a person deep down.

So anyway, yesterday I finally overcame all of these reasons, and got my first tattoo... It's a cross made of three nails tied together with the Latin word "Veritas" (meaning "Truth") written beneath it. It's located on the inside of my left forearm, and is decently drawn and shaded.

As for the memory of my father, this was sort of a last act of defiance against him and all he represented in my life. For years, I allowed him and his memory to prevent me from doing something I wanted to do. The tattoo, in its own way, is a symbol of taking my life back, as well as a reminder to me to always speak the truth, while being true to myself.