She’d been asking for years. My firstborn, with the red hair and creamy skin, wanted a tattoo. For years she’s been asking.
The child who, if she could, would paint her room a different color every other month. The child who, if her parents could, would ask them to rearrange the furniture in her room every other week. The child who, as a pre-teen, declared matter-of-factly, “I require constant change.” The undeniable implication was, “Is that so wrong? Is that so difficult? Why is nobody accommodating me???”
A tattoo. The most permanent of permanent body alterations.
When she was fourteen and fifteen, it was easy to laugh – “Pffffft! Over my dead body!” “You? The girl who gets tired of a haircut after three hours?” And my go-to favorite, “If you still want one when you’re older, we’ll talk.” Well, she was coming up on seventeen, and wanted to talk.
I knew better than to offer a henna tattoo – you know – the kind that isn’t permanent and the design can be different every time! No, I knew better. And each time she brought it up, tentatively and unusually respectfully, I pushed her off. I couldn’t help but admire her persistence, though, with this request. Normally that sort of thing annoys me – you know, the kid asking over and over for something I’d already said “no” to.
This topic, however? There was something in the way she asked that told us this was different.
To be clear, she knew Dave (hubs to me/dad to her) and I had… [Read more…] about My Tattooed Teenager
