Sharon went and got herself inked. As much as I wish she hadn't, I have to admit that I don't hate the damn tattoo as much as I thought I would.
I grew up with a strong visceral negative reaction to tattoos. In part, they weren't as mainstream then as they are now. But in addition, I grew up in a Jewish household and, culturally, tattoos were not a thing. It's not just a matter of religious law -- there are lots of religious laws that don't feel compelled to follow. But for many nonreligious Jews, tattoos are in a class separate from eating pork or driving on Saturdays. There is, after all, a widespread belief that if you have a tattoo you can't be buried in a Jewish cemetery. For the record, that belief is incorrect.
And some of my objections are purely practical. For example, I remember my high school yearbook photo. When it came time to choose a quote to go under my picture, I chose something that I thought was very clever and funny. I was sure that, decades later, when I looked back at it I'd smile at my creativity. In the event, I cringe and wonder how I could have done that. Considering that, I can't help wondering how much worse it would be if that clever quote had been permanently inked into my body.
I saw it -- Sharon's desire to get a tattoo -- coming. She hasn't exactly been secretive about it. There was a stretch that she was sure she wanted to be a tattoo artist when she grew up, and she has made money designing tattoos for other people. Also, a lot of her online friends (some of whom she has met in person) are inked. And she doesn't have the same reaction to tattoos that I have, and she's confident that -- even decades later -- she will still love her tattoo. At least I can take some comfort in the fact that it's a small ankle tattoo that won't interfere with her ability to get a "straight" job (assuming that's what she wants at some point).
No comments:
Post a Comment