My Very First Tattoo

This is the story of my very first tattoo... and a man named Tattoo.

His name is Daniel Leroy Chapman Sr., but everybody calls him Tattoo. Not me and my cousins though. We just call him Pop-Pop and my Mom Mom would lovingly refer to him as Jackass. And he isn’t just ANY man. He was the best friend I ever had... until I met my wife.

And he died when I was 15. Lucky number fifteen.

The last time I saw him I was thirteen and to this day I wish I had known it'd be the last time.

I grew up in a "split custody" arrangement, except my dad wasn't around much. (Don't be sad. I'm not). It gave me plenty of time to spend with the man I needed more than anything else in this world. And I hadn't even realized that yet. The original arrangement was that my grandparents would get me every other holiday season.

Ten had been the last time I saw them before I turned thirteen. My mother let me stay with my grandparents for a semester. It was the first time I had faced homelessness. To be fair mom did what was needed and we pivoted as much as we could, but I struggled. And Pop knew this when I swung my leg full force into his shin.

He sat me down and very sobering yet gently asked, "Daniel what's going on?"

I just looked into the wrinkles in his forhead that almost looked like wax and said, "I don't remember Pops. But I am really sorry and accept the consequences of my action."

He just kind of smiled at me. He said "maybe you're trying to remember to fast. And it's okay if you can't remember everything. You're still a Chapman."

Afterwards life kind of gradually separated us. Still, when I saw the 6'4 ebony pillar I hugged him with every bit of strength I had and refused to let go. I think the only thing that made me stop was being introduced to my new baby sister Zoey.

After I was notified of his passing, I was sure I needed to get something to etch his memory into me forever, so I would never forget our bond or his impact.

He is my first thought of acceptance of who I am. He is my peace. He is also my first step into acknowledging matters of the heart do sometimes outweigh matters of the mind.

It was only logical I get a tattoo. Besides I was almost sixteen, that's old enough for sure! I didn't care about all of the pain people said it caused. There was no way it was going to hurt more than my heart hurt. I didn't care what I even got. I just knew that if I got a tattoo, even the boy who forgets, would remember his best friend.

When I felt that needle sting my skin I was just barely 21 and already a few years into dating my soon-to-be wife. Only, even then I didn't know the impact of the decisions I was making.

I don't believe in coincidences. Happenstance is not a term that finds it's way into my vocabulary often. What I settled on in terms of Tattoo was pretty simple. It is cross with a ribbon wrapped around it that simply says "4-29" and "pops".

I am just about 27 now and to this day it is my only tattoo. Unless we consider my most recent Tattoo. Tattoo's Publishing, a hybrid publishing business I just founded.

Now I'm not saying I'm NOT about to ink my entire back. I'm just saying I learned exactly how to truly honor my grandfather and the namesake he left me and it didn't come from my body art. It came from the woman who was honest and compassionate in driving herself towards that goal. Every moment we spent together was about honoring the legacies of those closest to us that we have lost. Even living up to the parts they fell short on.

What I remember my grandfather for most is being one of the greatest story tellers to never publish a book.

He lived his life like an author and immersed himself in the story. I decided that's exactly what I need to do. The tattoo was Chapter One, and it has been a long chapter. Sorry, but this is merely a brief introduction. But please go over to therenproject.net to get more of the story. And definitely stay tuned for #ChapterTwo. Get ready for #TheBestStoryEverTold and understand #ThisIsJustTheBeginning

Chapter two comes December 4th 2021.