I got a tattoo.

For 23 years I was married to a man who thought tattoos were the most revolting thing in the world – next to smoking. Outwardly I agreed with him. Privately I thought some tattoos could be very tasteful, classy, and even sexy.  I had in the back of my mind a vague idea that I would like a small tattoo to honour my dad, but I knew as long as I was with Paul, it wouldn’t happen.

I’m not with him any more.

I got the tattoo.

It would fit on a business card, is on the outside of my left ankle, and consists of the word “Dad” inside a purple heart resting on a scrolled musical staff. On either side of the heart are tiny music notes, symbolic of my dad’s love of music. Below the heart are the dates “1912 – 1991” – his birth and death years. In keeping with the symbolism, I had the tattoo done on June 12, 2012 – which would have been my father’s 100th birthday, were he still alive.

Will I get any more? Not likely. Do I regret doing this? Not for a moment.

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2 Responses to Tattoo…

  1. Heather Smedley says:

    OW OW OW!!!!!

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