I have recently gotten tattooed for the 6th time. It is my biggest tattoo, and I went out in public showing it off for the very first time yesterday... at Sam's Club... of all places. The looks of hate and disgust I got from mothers and fathers with their kids was astonishing. It's not like I got a tattoo of a big penis on my left calf, it is a colorful memorial tattoo of leaves, and blue swirls and pink balloons. Is it just the act itself of getting a tattoo that disgusts people? Or is there still this stigma out there where people think that "Oh... she has a tattoo. She must be in a gang." Right. I'm in the pink balloon gang. We meet every Wednesday evening to watch Sandra Bullock movies and drink white wine.
Maybe people are just wondering why. Why would you go through so much pain? Why would you want something like that on your body for the rest of your life? Why would you get a tattoo so big? What REASON did you personally have for wanting that tattoo? I hate that last question. There have been so many times talking to a non-tattooed person, and as soon as they notice one of my tattoos they immediately ask, "Ohhh why did you get that?" or "What does it mean to you?" Does it have to mean anything? Why can't I just get a tattoo because it freaking looks awesome? I'm not saying I don't have tattoos that I got for sentimental reasons, but there are a couple I got just because I wanted them, and I think that's okay. It's your body, if you think this is something that you would want on your body to make it more beautiful or interesting, I say go for it. Not every little tattoo has to be some memorial for a lost loved one, or an homage to your Grandmother....
On that note, my last tattoo did happen to be a memorial for someone very dear to me who passed away. Which makes the "disgusted" Sam's Club faces even more annoying.
My tattoo is a memorial for my Aunt Janice, who passed away from cancer when I was a senior in High School. During the last couple months of her disease, I was in complete denial that anything was wrong. I was working a lot on the weekends and didn't get many chances to see her. I never even got to visit her in the hospital. The gravity of the situation didn't fully hit me until the morning I actually saw her, lying in her bed in her own bedroom, having passed away the previous night. At that moment all of my denial was replaced with anger. Anger at myself for not taking her disease seriously. Anger at those around me for not slapping me and telling me how serious this was getting. Anger at the world for not allowing me to have one more trip to the movies, or sleepover, or Sunday morning breakfast with my aunt. I remember sitting down in her living room staring at the wall while she was wheeled out of the house on a stretcher by the coroner, hating myself for being the worst niece on the planet, and I was the only niece she had.
That was 7 years ago. A couple days ago when I was laying on the tattoo table, I thought about that moment. About how I never really felt that I did enough, and that from then on I was going to be there for my family members, healthy or not. I wondered if Janice would approve of this tattoo that I was getting for her, and had she been alive, if she would have ever gotten one herself. Getting the tattoo was grueling and awful, as they always are, but in the end I felt it was worth it. This time it wasn't just a pretty design, it was something I wanted to go through to do something for my Aunt because I didn't do enough before. Every time I look down at my leg and see the wind and the autumn leaves and the pink balloons, I will remember the happy times spent with her, and not the heartbreaking last moments. I will remember her like she would want to be remembered, laughing, teasing, joking around, happy, instead of remembering her in that bed that morning 7 years ago.
If only I would have had time to explain all of this to those parents in Sam's Club, who gave me the look of disgust. Maybe then, they would have understood why someone would get tattooed, and why my tattoo is so big, and what it means to me. Unfortunately to them, me and every other tattooed person they meet will just be a freak, or a loser who isn't serious about getting a job, or who will never go anywhere in life, when really we are people who are expressing ourselves with artwork maybe for someone we love, or for just us (because that is okay too!). It is important to express yourself, because if you don't you turn into a bitter old person who gives shitty looks to people in Sam's Club, and nobody wants to turn into that.
So please, if you see someone in public who is tattooed, don't gawk and stare and assume they are some type of troublemaker. What if that person is struggling from an eating disorder and that tattoo is a reminder to stay strong? What if that person lost a child, and decided to memorialize them by getting a tattoo? What if that person was abused as a child, and that tattoo is one of their only reminders that there is still beauty in the world? You may be judging us for having tattoos, but none of us are judging you for not having any.
