Can You Tattoo?

What to write? What to write?

I can write about Max’s new tattoo! Yeah, I guess, the world needs to see my son, Max’s new tattoo, and read all my wonderful words of wisdom that go with it. Oh, and maybe, just maybe I can take a picture of the drawing I did several years ago of the very same tattoo subject and show it too!

Okay, World, "Can you tattoo?"

I think tattoos are only good for identifying your pet. I’m not in the school of thought that we should use our bodies… our skins, as canvases (unless of course you can wash it off). My parents or grandparents didn’t have tattoos. My children’s parents are tattoo-free. Why oh why, do my kids insist on graffiting themselves? They’ve asked since their tweens if they could get one. My stock answer was, “NO!”

Then I always followed with, “When you are old enough to move out, you do anything you like, but not while you’re living with me.”

Like my kids listen. Uh-huh. Sigh.

I tried to find photos of what happens to tattoos as you get older. How they get distorted, and how skin stretches, sags, and thins in the later years, but alas, nothing good enough in tired tattoo department. But I found some pretty ugly pictures that I’m choosing NOT to post here. I’ll let you Google them for yourselves.

Those of us who are a bit older, know what happens to aging bodies. "Come on," I try to tell the kids, "imagine grandma (whose at one time svelte, beautifully tattooed body glistened with artistic sexuality) on a hot day (did she really need that tattoo?). So now she’s 80-something in her sleeveless tent, house dress. Her great sagging underarms wobbling in the afternoon sun, The etched words, “Blonde Bombshell” seemingly melt down to her elbow while she serves you up another helping of the most fattening food ever. 'Eat!,' she demands, 'You’re too thin! Your tattoo needs to plump up! See what happens when you let yourself go?' and she holds up her arm Popeye style, except the flesh is hanging down to here!” I say pointing at my knee.

No… please, don’t imagine it. Forget I even mentioned it. Sorry.

But my kids didn't get the vision and did it anyway behind my back. (Yeah, like I wouldn’t notice.)

First Max got a tattoo on his forearm, a simple but noticeable black star with a red border about the size of a 50-cent piece. Pretty ugly. Then, God only knows what he was thinking, he had the number 13 penned on his elbow. Okay.

Then about six months ago, Roxzi got a fancy one across the bottom of her back that says, “Let the Good Times Roll” in large, swirly script lettering. I kept asking her about it, and she’d tell me, “It’s just temporary, Mom. Don’t worry about it.” But after a while, and I know the kid bathes regularly, I figured it out. (I’m smart like that.) [choke]

Thankfully, Max finally opened his eyes and saw how tacky his homespun tattoos looked (though he does have difficulty seeing the one on his elbow).

He decided to have the star covered up and this is what he got…

That’s Angels Gate Lighthouse at the entrance to the Los Angeles Harbor.

Actually, as a work of art, it’s pretty dang good. Max said the guy did it freehand while looking at a photo. And you can’t even see the star in there that’s hidden in the base and the rocks.

I do give Max credit for picking the subject matter too… it could have been a lot worse.

So… upon seeing that, I was motivated to dig out a pen and ink sketch I did from a photo I took (while on a whale watching field trip with one of the kids) of that very same lighthouse. (Can you tell?)

So, I’m looking at his tattoo, I’m looking at my drawing… and I’m wondering if maybe… maybe… maaaybeee… I should broaden my horizons and add tattoo artist to my resume? They make pretty good money. I could display my artistic talents on walking billboards. And, just think of all the colorful characters I’d meet! Um..

Eww.

Nooooooooah!

I’ll stick to keeping my ink on paper, thank you very much, and hang my art on the wall, not on someone’s epidermis.

Thank you, Nikki, for being the "good kid!"

Tah-tah too for now!