We are an average middle-class family with no freaks, so it might be a surprise that my kids have tattoos. We don’t ride Harleys and my boys don’t wear ponytails and none of us smoke Turkish cigarettes. Bree tried to hide her ankle-art by wearing socks all summer long (picture waterskiing). We figured it out the first day, but made her fret being caught until September. Kristin has dolphins that she couldn’t hide from her Dad. The boys have arm bands and monograms aplenty, and “Bussio” scrolls down the full length of Jadin’s torso.
I always had a reluctance to dabble in tattoos because my Mom told me that if I wrote on myself, she’d write on my forehead with indelible ink – “Loser” in Sharpie scared me. But lately, I’ve considered a little “tasteful” tat on the bottom of my foot where no one can see it. It’s hard figuring out what you really want to live with - for life. Roses, dolphins, Celtic knots, lady luck, initials, goddess, anchors… My four-year-old nephew dreams of a tat on his chest of a tow truck with “a really big hook”.
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