Two years ago, while giving my 7-year-old son, Jamie, a haircut in our master bathroom, he asked, “Do tattoos hurt?” I was casually dressed in gym shorts, and Jamie sat on a stool, curious and attentive. This was the first time he had ever questioned me about my tattoos.
I have three tattoos: one on each shoulder and another on my right calf. They include a blue sun, an abstract face with headphones connected to a bomb from my favorite punk album, and, regrettably, the Grim Reaper. I recall a moment when Jamie was just 2 years old. I had just stepped out of the shower, wearing a towel, and he stood next to me on the arm of the sofa, reaching out to touch one of my tattoos with a mix of curiosity and wonder. It became clear to me then that my body was a canvas of colors and memories that differed significantly from his.
My first tattoo, the Grim Reaper, was inked when I was 19. When I showed it to my mother, she was visibly upset, saying, “Do you know how hard I worked for that body?” At the time, I dismissed her feelings, viewing her as overly conservative. However, now, my tattoos serve as reminders of a tumultuous period in my life—my father’s passing being the catalyst for the Grim Reaper tattoo. They reflect a younger version of me, plagued by anxiety and longing for connection through underground punk music.
When I got my tattoos, the permanence seemed trivial. A TED Talk I once listened to discussed how individuals often perceive their future selves as slightly older versions of who they are now, lacking foresight about their personal growth. Looking back, I see my tattoos as relics of a rebellious youth that no longer align with my identity as a father of three working in academia.
This is the fundamental challenge with tattoos. Many people cherish theirs as symbols of joyous moments, like the birth of a child or memorable adventures. Unfortunately, my experience is different; I don’t have those happy associations tied to my ink. Most tattoos are acquired in youth when carefree decisions are made, but life evolves, leaving behind physical reminders of a past self.
As a parent, I aspire for my children to learn from my experiences. I want them to avoid the mistakes I made and not be burdened by memories of pain or regret tied to tattoos.
“Yes,” I replied to Jamie, “Tattoos can hurt.” He asked why, and I explained the process of tattooing, likening it to the clippers I was using on his hair. I told him that while it doesn’t hurt much initially, it can become quite uncomfortable after a few hours.
“Will they ever go away?” he wondered. I explained that while removal is possible, it’s costly and unlikely for me. His eyes widened, realizing that “forever” is a long time. I continued, “One day, your friends will probably want tattoos, just like I did. I want you to know that I regret mine. It feels like wearing an unremovable shirt, and as they fade, they become reminders of who I was, not who I am.”
Jamie offered an innocent, “19 is kind of old,” to which I chuckled, recalling how I once felt the same. He remained attentive, so I continued, “I want you to know that you will always be my son, no matter what. If you choose to get tattoos, make sure they represent something joyful in your life.”
As I resumed cutting his hair, I looked at his soft skin and realized how much my mother wanted to protect me from regret. It struck me why she was so upset about my tattoo.
“Does all this make sense?” I inquired. Jamie looked at me, half his hair cut, and simply said, “Not really.”
“That’s okay,” I replied. “I’m still figuring it out myself.”
Summary
In this reflective piece, a father discusses his regrets about his tattoos while explaining their significance to his young son. He emphasizes the importance of making thoughtful decisions regarding body art, hoping to guide his children away from potential future regrets. The author recognizes the emotional weight his tattoos carry and the lessons learned through his experiences.
Keyphrase: Regrets about tattoos as a parent
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