To Tattoo or Not To

By Randy Haglund

“Have you ever thought of getting a tattoo?”

The question came from a new colleague, one that hadn’t gotten the memo that I was a conservative opinionated old fuddy-duddy that thrived on giving unsolicited advice.

“Why? Are you thinking of getting one?”

“I’ve been giving it some thought.”

 I set down what I was doing. “Have you decided what kind of tattoo you want?”

“Not really.”

“Do you know where you want it? On your body I mean.”

He tilted his head. “Kinda depends on what kind of tattoo it is.”

This poor naïve soul apparently valued my opinion, so I was about to let him have it.

“So here’s what you should do. Decide what you want and where you want it. Then think about it for a year.”

“A year?” To someone more than thirty years younger than me, a year and eternity are roughly equivalent measures of time.

“Right. Don’t get a tattoo on a whim or because you lost a bet. And don’t do like so many do and get one when you’re drunk. The last thing you need is tattoo regret.”

He frowned. “Tattoo regret?”

“Yeah. There’s a lot of people out there with that, and there will be a lot more, believe me. But if you have your heart set on a particular tattoo for a whole year, it’s probably one you can live with for the rest of your life.

He hung his head and dropped the subject.

His reaction reminded me of a conversation that Jesus had with a man that the Bible describes as a rich young ruler.[1] The man came to Jesus seeking advice. He wanted to know what he needed to do to have eternal life. After some conversation, Jesus told him that he needed to sell everything he had and give it to the poor.

You can imagine his reaction.

I’m not comparing my wisdom to that of Jesus. Far from it. But my resemblance to His ability to turn off would-be disciples is striking, wouldn’t you say?

I haven’t always been against tattoos. I remember when I was in the third or fourth grade I would often buy candy at the nearby Rexall Drug Store next to Sigman’s IGA three blocks from my house. Considering my meager income at the time I had little selection. Most candy bars were a nickel—like Butterfinger, although there were some that were a whole dime. I couldn’t usually afford Snickers. A pack of gum was five cents, but you could buy a Bazooka Bubble Gum for a penny. Bazooka came with a comic strip.

But for a penny you could also get bubble gum with transferable tattoos. That was just a penny more than my favorite price.

Tattoos were not common when I was young. One of the only people I knew with a tattoo was Mr. Stratton, Westview Elementary School P.E. teacher. He had an anchor on his sizeable forearm like Popeye. Mr. Stratton was a big, tough guy reminding me more of Bluto than Popeye. But his tattoo added to his stature in my mind.

At the drug store I had my choice of tattoos like Mighty Mouse, Mr. Magoo or Bugs Bunny. I couldn’t find one of an anchor, or anything that cool. Another drawback was that they were temporary, and they weren’t even very bright or visible. Nobody would ever comment, “Hey, I like your tattoo.” No, you would have to point it out to people, which kind of spoiled the whole point of the tattoo. Soon, I went back to Bazooka Joe.

When I was old enough to get a real tattoo, I had changed my mind about them. My paramount reason being my aversion to letting other people inflict pain on my person.

Still later, when my teenage son told me he was thinking of getting a tattoo, I told him I thought it was a bad idea.

He said, “Aw, c’mon, Dad. It’s a generational thing.”

“I get that,” I said. “My parents didn’t like my long hair or the clothes I wore. But when I matured, I could cut my hair if I wanted to. And I’m glad I’m not stuck with bell-bottoms, tie-dye t-shirts, platform shoes and an afro.”

“Whoa Dad!, You had a ‘fro?”

I did.

“You see,” I said, “tattoos are not a fashion.”

“What do you mean?”

“By definition, fashions change. Tattoos are permanent.”

My son still doesn’t have a tattoo. I’d like to think my opinion on tattoos has won at least one convert.

A couple years ago my 22-year-old daughter told me she wanted a tattoo. We had the same conversation I had with my son a few years earlier, but I was less successful in my persuasion skills. She now has a hummingbird on her forearm.

But when she’s forty, will she wish she had listened to me?

Only time will tell.

***

To tattoo or not to. That is the question. Care to share your opinion?

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[1] Luke 18:18-30. See also Matt. 19:16-30 and Mark 10:17-31