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Tattoos

"Well, Dad, I'm eighteen now" my son announced, one day a few years ago.

"That you are, son!" I responded. "so what?"

"Well, I think I'm gonna get a tattoo."

I paused a moment before answering. This is one of those teenage challenges that kids occasionally throw at their parents. I guess I was wrong thinking we would escape parenthood without any threat to

our sovereignty "A tattoo, huh? What were you thinking of getting?"

"Well, I don't really know," he responded.

His pause gave me an opening. "Can I offer a suggestion?" I didn't wait for an answer. "If you're gonna do that, get something meaningful. Something that you'll still be proud to have when you're 70 years

old."

And he actually thought about that. Two weeks later, after doing some research on tattoos and tattoo shops in the area, he had our family crest permanently inked into his left shoulder blade. I had to

admit - it looked pretty cool. So cool, in fact, that a friend of ours, who also shares our last name, took one look at it and had the same tattoo etched into his arm. His first tattoo. John's 60 years old.

"I wouldn't have anyone else except that guy do my tattoos," my son announced after leaving the tattoo parlor. "His shop is so clean and he's a real artist." I noticed the use of the plural word tattoos' in

his declaration. Sure enough, the next year, he got another one. A very ornate cross, this time on his bicep. In memory of three friends who had died while he was in high school. "I was gonna put their

initials on the cross," he confided. "But that might be bad luck. I don't want to have to add other initials to it later." I couldn't argue with the meaningfulness of that tattoo either.

He says his next one will be some variation of the Marine Corps bulldog but he needs to wait until he graduates and actually gets his lieutenant's bars, before that one is etched in. There's an unwritten

rule - no Marine Corps tattoos until you've earn them

I'll admit that tattoos have always fascinated me. As a youngster, I remember thinking how cool that anchor tattooed on my uncle's forearm looked. A souvenir of his time serving with the Navy in the

South Pacific during World War II. Lots of guys from the "Greatest Generation" came back home with similar etchings. They were a symbol of pride. For those warriors still alive today, their tattoos are

now long washed out and faded. But that pride is still there.

I recall that, years later, while I was serving in Korea, a friend of mine wanted a tattoo. Not some symbol

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