Eighteen year old kids seldom make wise choices – at least I didn’t. The shenanigans I took part in gave my parents the unique opportunity to meet with each principal I ever had at every school I attended. You see, my friends and I were good kids but we loved to have fun, which usually meant trouble.
My friends describe my father as being like Mr. Rodgers – soft spoken, soothing voice, similar fashion sense, and never angry. The similarities are pretty much dead on. For fun, I would do things just to keep him on his toes…
One night I decided that it would be a great idea to get my name tattooed on the inside of my lip – which was kind of perfect timing, because my friends and I were already on our way to the tattoo parlor.
We had convinced our friend to get a tattoo of a flagpole on his butt, with the number 19 on it (the 19th hole) – all we had to do was pay for it. I would show a picture, but I’m guessing nobody really wants to see a tattoo coming out of the inner crevasse of my friends butt cheeks.
I was next in line (different needle of course). The tattoo artist informed me that it would probably only last three years at best, which was fine by me. In a matter of minutes it was done. The next day I proudly showed my mother, not knowing how she would react – she loved it and quickly scheduled my next dental appointment (with my dad).
The anticipation grew with every second, as he slowly checked the status of my gums, working his way from the back molars towards the central incisors – then he finally noticed it! His eyebrows rose, he gently put the mirror down, pulled my lip down with both hands, and leaned in to read it.
Dad: “Is that a dollar sign for the S?”
Dad: “EDITH, GET IN HERE AND SEE WHAT YOUR SON DID!”
Mom: “Honey, I already know!”
It was perfect. The look on his face was absolutely priceless!
The tattoo artist was wrong. It’s been over 7 years now and the tattoo is still there. It goes to show that some decisions we make in our youth never really go away…