My deep, dark secret

When I was 15, I wanted to get a tattoo. I begged my mother for one and she vehemently told me, "NO." When I asked her why I couldn't get one, she said something to the effect of "good girls don't get tattoos." I knew I was a good girl but secretly also knew I was a rebel at heart. Years went by and I forgot about my desire to get a tattoo. I think my mother was thankful. We never discussed it again until many, many years later.

When I was 51, I decided I was GOING to get that tattoo I'd always wanted. I was going to keep it a secret, just between my husband and I. I was determined to do it and he knew he'd better not say one word about it. So we drove to the closest tattoo shop and I went inside.

I had no idea what to expect but wasn't too shocked to see posters of all sorts of tattoos on the walls. There were many scary, evil, dark looking ones. They made me feel very creepy so I quickly flipped through the posters until I came to a section of butterflies and flowers...much better.

When I was called back, a young guy in his mid twenties introduced himself to me. He said his name was Ben. I checked him out. His ears were gauged, his eyebrow pierced and his body was randomly covered in tattoos. I assumed he was also a rebel. He'd do just fine.

He took me back to one of the rooms and motioned for me to have a seat on the massage table. We sat and talked a few minutes and he asked if I had any idea what I wanted. He also asked if I knew where I wanted to put a tattoo. At that point, I really didn't have a clue what tattoo I wanted or where I wanted to put it. I only knew I wanted to keep it hidden from the public eye for the majority of the time. After sharing that with Ben, I decided to have it placed on my left outer calf muscle. So far so good...a place was selected, now all I needed was to give him the idea for my tattoo. I still had no idea what I wanted. Ben started to ask me questions about things I liked. He was very good at what he did and he was very patient too. I liked that. As we went through a long list of things, we started talking about nature and that led to a brief discussion of my love of hummingbirds. He asked if I'd like him to draw up a hummingbird and I told him that would be fine. He left the room and went to draw. While he was gone, my husband and I talked about the tattoo parlor and how strange it felt for both of us to be in there. Here we were middle aged, middle class folks in the middle of a world we knew nothing about. I wondered what the tattoo artist thought about me...an older woman wanting her first tattoo. Surely he had to be laughing inside but then again, he may have only been seeing dollar signs.

After a short time, the artist reappeared with a beautifully sketched image of a hummingbird. I rolled up the leg of my jeans and he put the stencil on my calf. When he peeled it off, I loved it! I exclaimed how pleased I was and he said, "I haven't even started working on you yet. Just wait until I'm done."

He helped me get comfortable on the table and my husband stood in the doorway so he could see what was going on. I didn't know what it was going to feel like to get a tattoo and asked Ben to explain it to me. Instead of doing that, he said, as he took the tattoo machine in hand and pressed it against my leg, "this is what it feels like." He slowly began outlining the hummingbird. He asked if I was okay with that and I shook my head affirmatively.

The tattoo needle was very light, almost like a bee sting. It hurt, but also felt good at the same time. I know that sounds weird but it really did! (That's why tattoos are addictive to some people I guess). As he worked on the outline, I hardly paid attention to the pain. When it came time for him to begin shading the tattoo, I noticed he changed needles. I asked about it and he said he used 5 needles for outlining but 7 for shading. I watched intently as he dipped the needles into various colors and shaded the bird. It was amazing. It was like coloring with ink only instead of having a nice, smooth,flat surface to work on, Ben was dealing with real flesh and blood. Occasionally he'd stop and wipe my leg removing ink and droplets of blood. After about an hour and a half, Ben had completed my hummingbird.

The beautiful color on my leg was amazing! Ben had done a fantastic job of creating a very realistic tattoo. I was so pleased and told him. I watched as Ben carefully applied the petroleum jelly and plastic wrap which would protect the tattoo until I could get home and wash it with antibacterial soap. Ben gave me instructions on tattoo care as we paid him and got ready to go.

In the car, I told my husband thank you for going with me. I knew he wasn't keen on my getting a tattoo but he knew how much it meant to me. I felt an energy welling up inside me. It had only taken me 36 years to have my dream of having a tattoo come true.

I was able to keep my tattoo hidden from my family and coworkers for a long time by wearing slacks or calf length skirts. Working for a Southern Baptist Church, tattoos were not only frowned upon but unbiblical. ("You shall not make any cuts on your body for the dead or tattoo yourselves: I am the LORD." Leviticus 19:28) And yes, I am a Christian. And yes, I believe the entire Bible is God's Word. But I did it anyway. I didn't do it to defy God. I didn't do it to cause dissension in the family of God. I did it because I wanted it for myself. ( I won't go into a long discussion here because that would make my post extremely long...but I do want you to understand I am very serious about my faith and always have been.)

Little did I know that years later, and many tattoos later, I'd be getting 6 more tattoos...but these wouldn't be in a tattoo parlor. These would be at the radiation clinic. When the radiologist explained to me that I'd be receiving 6 tiny blue dots that would be tattooed on my skin to help line up the linear accelerator, I smiled. "Are you sure you don't mind now, these will be on you forever," the tech told me. I assured her it was okay and then promptly showed her my other tattoos.

Today, as I was looking in the mirror after my shower, I took my finger and traced the dots of the little tattoos. They began mid abdomen and traveled up and over the space where my right breast would have been. Tiny little dark blue dots. If you didn't know they were there, you'd miss them. The radiology staff knew they were there and they used them at each of my radiation treatments. They were tiny guidelines to make sure the radiation beams were aimed exactly where they needed to be.

Most of my family and friends don't know I have even one tattoo, let alone 11. I wonder what they'll think of me after they read this post. I can just imagine how they'll stereotype me along with the bikers and low life folks who usually sport tattoos and if they do that, I'll be sad. My tattoos are an expression of me (all except the 6 from the cancer...those I'd have never chosen to have in all my life). It would be so nice if people would look upon a person's heart and their character instead of merely focusing on their outer appearance but that doesn't usually happen. I'm still the same sweet, loving, caring person I always was before my first tattoo and I intend to be the same for the rest of my life.

I still cover my tattoos when I go out. It is not my intention to ever offend anyone. Some people like tattoos and some don't. I respect each person's right to choose. If I had it to do over again, I probably wouldn't have ever gotten that first tattoo. I'll admit, I never really gave a lot of thought to the fact that I'd have the ink on my body for the rest of my life, but that's typical of me. I've always been a "dive in feet first" kinda person and ask questions later.

In a magazine a few weeks ago, I saw a photo of an old woman with several tattoos. Her body was very frail and filled with wrinkles. The tattoos she had weren't as attractive as they once were and that got me to thinking. I wondered what my tattoos would look like in 10 years or 20 or 25. And then, I wondered how I'd explain them to my grandchildren without encouraging them to do the same thing. I had never thought of that before either...

Don't get me wrong. I don't regret getting my first tattoo or any of the ones that followed. I can't really explain my reasons for getting one other than to say I've always had little rebellious streak in me.

When I was a child, if someone told me I couldn't do something, I just had to prove them wrong and I'd do it. I guess that carried over into my teenage years and even into adulthood. I was always obedient and compliant as a child. I always, always did what I was told. I always pushed myself to live up to higher standards and excelled in everything but it never was quite good enough. This quote by Pink sums it up pretty well "My mom took all of my behavior personally. Everything I did, she thought it was an act of rebellion against her. But it was just me being me." I always felt like I had to prove something...whether to myself or someone else, I don't really know...I just had to do it.

So there you have it...my deep, dark secret. I'm sure some of you won't understand and probably won't be back to read my blog anymore, but that's okay. And there are some of you who'll just say, "Wow, I had no idea," and you'll still be my friend and love me. You know they'll always be haters and haters gonna hate! In either case, it's okay. I'll still have my tattoos because they aren't going anywhere and hopefully, 20 or 30 years down the road, my hummingbird will still look like a hummingbird and not a vulture or something terrible like that!

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