I never would have imagined me with a tattoo! No one who knows me ever would have imagined me with a tattoo! That was true, then…
I turned 60! It wasn’t something I had spent a lot of time thinking about. I always thought tattoos were for other people, but just couldn’t think I would ever be “one of those people”. Tattoos represented the badass, the brave if somewhat stupid people, but not me. I have seen plenty of questionable tattoos that made me wonder about the state of mind the person sporting them. Then there is that pain thing! I knew getting a tattoo had to involve some degree of pain, and I couldn’t comprehend willingly have pain inflicted on me! Then…
I turned 60! Im not sure if it was the thought of turning 60 and never really doing anything “daring”, or a older than middle aged crisis, or just the realization that I’m a grown ass woman and could do anything I wanted! I just got a hair up my backside and on impulse, took my 60 year old self to a tattoo parlor. I looked around at all the people decades younger than me. At first I thought I must have lost my mind. I almost walked out, embarrassed than my old self was even in there. Then I reminded myself that…
I turned 60! It was going to be now or never. I sheepishly signed in at the front desk and wondered what thoughts were going through those much younger minds about me being there. Were the tattoo artists praying they wouldn’t get the wrinkled skinned one to have to tattoo? I didn’t know at then how much truth might have been behind those fears, as I’ve learned since then that older and wrinkled skin was harder to tattoo. I was also what I learned later was a tattoo virgin. But then I reminded myself…
I turned 60! I was born with good genes and didn’t have wrinkly skin, and I have always had a high pain tolerance. I had my first child totally natural without even an aspirin for pain! Surely I could sit for a tattoo? I had been a virgin before, so what was the big deal of being a different kind of virgin? I had survived two other childbirths, one emergency C-Section with both our lives hanging in limbo, a hysterectomy, and a couple other abdominal surgeries. I was a warrior, made it this far, and…
I turned 60! Even so, I was still not brave enough to venture too far into this foreign experience, so I safely chose a small tattoo of a butterfly on my ankle. As the artist is starting to create his masterpiece, he informs me the ankle can be a bit more painful due to it being a bony area. Now he tells me! But, I was committed at this point, so I gritted my teeth and prepared to scream if I so felt inclined. I did make a few painful groans, but I wouldn’t allow myself to scream. After all, I was a grown woman and …
I turned 60! I won’t lie. There was some pain involved. I looked around at all the artists with their bodies literally covered in all sizes, shapes, and colors of creatures and designs. Through my gritted teeth, I asked the artist how they could stand all the pain each of those tattoos had to have involved. He told me the pain was part of the thrill and addiction of tattoos. I realized later what he meant by that. After the creation was complete, I had just a small butterfly tattoo on my ankle, survived the pain, and walked out with my head help high. I was so proud of that little tattoo. I reminded the artist that…
I turned 60! This was my gift to myself. I was so proud of how cute that little tattoo looked, and how badass I thought that made me look. I couldn’t wait to show it off. At the same time, I was a little worried of what my family would say. My Mom wouldn’t hesitate to let me know she hated it. She didn’t let me down. I got a lecture on how the Bible says tattoos are a sin. I have yet to find that verse! It took me a couple of days to show my husband and kept it covered. When I finally got the nerve to tell him, he told me I need to go wash that thing off. Whe I informed him I couldn’t as it was real, he asked me why. I said because…
I turned 60! And I wanted to, I could, so I did. He got over it. By the time of the second tattoo, he just shook his head. That tattoo was also a small one of a peace dove carrying a branch in its mouth, inked on my inner wrist. I’ve at this point learned some tattoo lingo, so I was “inked”. I learned what the artist had meant when he talked about the addiction. I was hooked! I still didn’t want a body covered in random ink, and vowed any and all tattoos would have some meaning. After all, I wasn’t one of those young things that normally get inked. I felt I needed to be conservative on the amount of tats (I’ve embraced the lingo!), because…
I turned 60! It would be a couple of years later before I would get another tattoo. I knew what I wanted, and drew the design myself. Of course, the drawing on a piece of paper would, as I quickly discovered, have to be much bigger than I had envisioned. My husband had recently passed away and I wanted a tattoo in memory of him. A black rose with black lace ribbon, an 8-ball in the middle of the rose to represent his love of and skill in shooting pool, and a copy of his handwriting was inked on my left thigh. This tattoo started with that very first butterfly incorporated and extended on until it reached almost to my knee. I wear it with pride, and get compliments on it all the time. He helps me feel a part of my husband is always with me. There is still one more story telling tattoo. It all started because…
I turned 60! A few months after my husband passed, I underwent total knee replacement surgery. I am here to tell anyone reading this to not undergo major surgery so soon after suffering a major loss! My emotional state was still so fragile, and a major surgery was not good medicine. I had never been through anything without the support of my husband to hold my hand, take care of me, help me recover. I was also dealing alone with other family issues that my husband had been so much better in dealing with than me. It was during this time, I claimed Phil. 4:13 as MY verse: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me”. I repeated that verse hundreds of times during this ordeal. I knew if I got another tattoo, that verse would have to be a part of it. I knew the heat I would get from my mom, but that didn’t deter me as…
I turned 60! I was a widow, alone to care for our adult special needs son. I was a survivor. My husband always told me, “You’ve got this, Babe”. I am a warrior! I don’t give up. People always tell me I am the strongest person they know. They don’t see behind close doors when I don’t feel so strong. But, deep down, I know I’m strong. My next tattoo had to show that. Again, I designed what I wanted inked on my left inside forearm. My tattoo is a curved feather, one end curving into the word strength, the other end curving into the words Phil. 4:13. Below the word strength is a small heart with wings, representing all those I’ve lost. Above Phil. 4:13 is a small paw print to represent the pets I’ve lost. The feather represents Psalm 91:4: “He will cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you will find refuge; His faithful will be your shield and rampart”. A tattoo with loads of meaning. I will continue to rely on my faith to get me through. I may or may not get another tattoo. But if I do, I’ll always remember it all started because…
I turned 60! What have you done because you turned 60?
I DIDN’T GIVE UP! 