When I was 19 and in the service, I remember standing in a tattoo parlor in Chanute, Illinois, with $50 in my hand. My long forgotten friends were taking turns under the needle. Each had selected the U.S. Air Force emblem to adorn their biceps. When it came time for my turn, I balked. I kept thinking about the future and it did not add up. No tattoo for me then, and none for me now.
This 19-year-old friend of my niece is proud of her Nemo tattoo. She has another tattoo on her bicep (second view here). I am of two minds on tattoos. While I will never get one myself, I enjoy tattoos on other people. I think it has something to do with the colors. It reminds me of human graffiti. When I see one I like, I walk right up and ask, “Do you mind if I shoot your tat?”. They always says yes. Of course I am a bit of a hypocrite, today I gave my niece some cash for her birthday while taking the opportunity to admonishing her to “not spend it on tattoos”. I’m still her uncle after all.
