Wherein I Actually Man Up And Get This Tattoo I've Been Talking About

Since coming up with what I believed was an awesome idea for a tattoo and getting an image of what it would look like on me, the talk of actually getting it escalated. The thing is, talk often doesn't mean that much in my world because I do so much of it. Regardless, the idea was clearly gaining momentum in my head, but I was content to just talk about it for awhile. Of course, this could only go on for so long before someone eventually called me out on it.

My close friend, Kamar, had her golden birthday earlier this spring, but she had a desire to do something a little more extreme to commemorate the year. Something that came to mind for her was getting a tattoo. Once she heard me talking about my tattoo idea, she started to discuss us going to get our first tattoos together. I tried not returning her calls, text messages and e-mails concerning the matter, but eventually I had to acknowledge her existence. This was the catalyst that led to me eventually following through on all that talk I had been doing.

The day before Easter was the day everyone was planning to celebrate Kamar's birthday, and I had spoken to some friends and found a reputable tattoo parlor. We had a couple of hours available to us in the afternoon, so we went together to check it out. Full Disclosure: I really hadn't committed myself to getting the tattoo at all at this point. I had been told that this particular tattoo artist would be happy to do a mock up of the tattoo and let me walk around with it a little bit. Sort of see how it fit. In my mind, I was going to having him draw it on, walk out of the parlor and in all likelihood, back out. I would still save face, though, because we would have gone to the parlor and had the experience and actually gotten ink put on us, I just wouldn't have to make a life long commitment. The tattoo parlor was busy enough that they couldn't fit us in that day. Again, I saw an opportunity to back out. Unfortunately, the very friendly (and covered in ink) girl that worked the counter was happy to make us an appointment for the next day. While I considered what I was getting myself into, Kamar responded, "Awesome! Tomorrow's Easter! Resurrection Tats!" I did my best to feign the same level of excitement, but as I was handed an appointment card for the next afternoon, I had a sinking feeling that I would actually be getting a tattoo the next day.

I picked Kamar up the next morning still thinking that I wasn't going to actually get a tattoo. I still figured I could get away with simply having it drawn on and walking away, giving myself time to get used to the idea and decide if this was really something I wanted to do. When we arrived at the tattoo parlor, things started to change. Mark, the tattoo artist, was an exceedingly nice guy, but he prepared the needles at the same time he prepared our stencils. It seemed that by getting our designs stenciled on, we were already committing to the entire process.

For whatever reason, Kamar ended up going first. After taking a couple shots at placement, she had an inked out stencil of what would soon be an awesome tattoo. As she looked in the mirror and evaluated it, I affirmed that it looked great. She hesitated only briefly before deciding to make it permanent. Kamar sat in a chair and faced me, giving Mark room to work on her back. He informed her that he was about to start and in the following moments her facial expression did not change in the slightest. I was puzzled, as Mark was clearly digging a needle full of ink into Kamar's back, but she appeared to be in no pain whatsoever. Kamar was finished within ten or fifteen minutes and it was about to be my turn. She had quickly solidified her decision and taken the pain like a champ. I cursed her for her courage and decisiveness.

(This smile remained fixed on Kamar's face throughout the whole process. Never go to a tattoo parlor with the toughest woman you know, it makes you look bad.)

Now I was in a very tough spot. I had walked into the tattoo parlor uncertain the prior day and my condition had not changed by this morning. Kamar's tattoo looked great, but I was still not sure that I wanted to have something permanently put on my body. The problem was, I had made several fatal mistakes. First, I went to a tattoo parlor in my pastel aquamarine polo on Easter. Second, I had allowed a girl to go before me. Third, the girl I chose to go with is totally BA. Fourth, all of this had transpired in front of a very nice guy who tattoos people for a living and has a son who is a Hell's angel.

I had chosen the location for my hypothetical tattoo - the inside of my upper arm - and asked Mark to determine the size and exact placement. I had him stencil it on, then immediately texted a picture of it to my mother for confirmation. She argued with me about it, claiming that I should have it done in "nice" writing rather than her handwriting, while also inquiring about several aspects of my personal life, all in front of everyone in the tattoo parlor (Thankfully, mostly close friends at that point). When this stall had finished, I asked Mark a series of stupid questions to further delay the inevitable. Ultimately, I knew that I just had to man up and do it, so I laid down on the table and Mark got to work.

(This is the stencil that would become my tattoo. This is also the photo I sent my mother for confirmation.)

He told me he was getting started, but I didn't feel a thing. Within minutes, I could feel some pain, but it wasn't too bad. Of course I was talking with friends much of the time and laughed once or twice, shaking in such a manner that could possibly make a mess of the lines that would be on me for the rest of my life. Mark did a great job of not allowing me to screw the whole thing up. He finished up at the beginning of the phrase, in the area closest to my armpit, which did start to sting a bit.

(This is what it looks like when a nervous man with a receding hairline gets a tattoo. Please ignore the sweat stains on my shirt. Again, I was nervous.)

It was surreal to know that when he was finished I actually had a tattoo, in fact, it still is surreal. I looked at it for awhile and loved it. I am glad I didn't have an idea for a second tattoo, because as we walked out, I had the compulsion to walk right back in and get a second one.

(Finished product.)

The moments afterward were filled with a lot of excitement as Kamar and I enjoyed the fact that we had actually done what we had talked about. Since then, the excitement has quickly calmed down. For the most part, I don't really think about it. Sometimes when I am reminded that it is there I get really psyched. Occasionally, I go into a very brief but complete panic over the fact that I actually have something permanently inscribed on my body. When this happens, I am quickly comforted by it's meaning. I have a message for myself and others to see that will hold me accountable to my beliefs, remind me of my brokenness and the many blessings I did nothing to deserve, and hopefully be tribute to my mother.

Adelante!

-Clint