Get a Tat? Good idea???

I don't have a tattoo. I've never really wanted a tattoo. I've considered the pros and cons, the merits involved, and I've pondered if having one would somehow prove a personal point or change me in some way. So, I have been deliberate in my decision. And please know that my choice to not have one was not predicated on any fear or bigotry about them or the people that have chosen differently than I did.

As a teenager, I never had to remotely consider this to be in my pile of "what should I do's" in life. I had no peer pressure. I was a flower child, a child growing up in the age of hippies. I had bell-bottomed jeans, clogs, and all my clothes were colored hot pink, neon orange, or bright yellow. My only worry was if my hair was ironed straight enough.

My uncles had tattoos. One had "Mother" written on his chest. The three of them covered the bases in service to their country in the big war, World War II. One had been in the Navy, one the Army, and one was a Marine. If women in their generation had a tattoo, I never knew it. It wasn't even a topic of consideration, honestly. Well, except in the Carnival people stories...you know, the tattooed lady.

The Baby Boomers had Elvis, and then Woodstock, and Motown. Our parents only bitched about our short skirts and the long hair the boys had. They had no bitch about any tattoo. Nobody wanted one. And then our country sent off those long-haired boys we had to the Vietnam War. If anyone had earned the right to wear their hair as they pleased, it was them after that fiasco.

My kids, all Generation X'ers all wound up with tats. They have skulls, butterflies, words of meaning in one place or another, feathers, inked along with the names of deceased loved ones. I can't say that I was happy about their decisions, but I choose my battles...and frankly, tattoos are pretty benign in the grand scheme of what mothers worry over. Now, their kids sport a few tattoos and nose rings and extra holes here and there. So, what the hell, right?

I thought about me (or my alter ego) having one. I would, of course, also have to have lavender hair and a nose ring to go along with this updated version of myself. My one and only tat would read, "Redeemed." Because I am and I'm grateful. But if my life didn't reflect that already, what good would the word do?

And since I don't even have any bumper stickers on my car that would give away any information about myself, it makes sense that I wouldn't feel the need to have a "skin" conversation-starter, either. I prefer to remain a mystery because I believe "less is more." And instead of having my hurts, my dismays, and my passions on display, I think I might prefer to have a clean slate so as not to remind myself and move on with life. Let's face it, after sixty-six years on this planet, my body would have been covered up with ink already for all the life I've seen and felt and wished I hadn't. Not to mention the effects of gravity with a tattoo...less is more might end up looking like this:

But I will tell you, and I mean this with every ounce of strength in me, when I saw the works of art that were done for women after their mastectomies and for others to diminish their physical scars, I cried. Beautiful!!! I passionately support their choice for a tattoo. And I give a huge salute and many hugs to all the artists who made these lives better. This is a shout out to the artists and the survivors! Bravo!