When I was in Middle School I witnessed my father get his first tattoo. it was a pretty nervous and exciting day. My Mom already had two and she never discouraged him. I remember entering the tattoo store with Mom talking about her two tattoos that were below her belly button. I saw them all the time; whenever she lifted her arms or was at the beach. So, when my Dad wanted one it was never a shock to me.
Then after my Dad got his we asked questions about the pain, to where he joked about how he didn't want to cry in front of the tattoo artist, that also happened to be our neighbor. It came out beautiful. It was his last name and he got all our names to hang off of it. It was so painful because he got it on his shoulder but I always thought he got it there because he felt he could carry us through anything.

My mindset about getting a tattoo was never an "if" decision but a "when" decision. My parents may have created me but they never tried to dictate how we decorated ourselves. My brother talks all the time about his plans to get his first tattoo. Tattoos to me were never this trashy thing, but a fascinating thing.
You have to understand that someone is getting something so permanent on their body because it means something to them. Like all things in life, it may be hard to understand when it has nothing to do with you. My political opinions do not affect you, because they are based off my morals in values. My religious decisions do not affect you. because they are based on my own faith in God. So, my tattoo decisions do not affect you, because it is my body.

When I got my first tattoo my Mom talked to me that day about all the things I need to do after to make sure it heals well. Never did my Mom ask me to reconsider or think about my decision. Never did she think that because she gave birth to me, that meant she made the choice on how I expressed myself. I am so grateful whenever I look at my arm and remember that support. My boyfriend was the one that paid for it. Never did he think he had control over what I could put on my body. For my Dad, I felt it was the only way I could truly express how much he meant to me. So, anybody who told me to rethink my choice, or looks down on it, to me is looking down on how I choose to honor my Dad.

My tattoo is on my right forearm. It is a date in roman numerals that stands for October 20th, 2000. It is the day my Dad adopted me. I told him I would get the tattoo but never told him when. He met my Mom when I was two and never formally adopted me until I was six. There was never anything I could do to prove he was 100% my father.(not because he didn't think he was but he didn't have to be my Dad and did it anyways) No birthday cards and no fathers day cards could ever voice how much that means to me. So when I sat and got the date that solidified him legally as my father into my arm, it was like he was finally a part of me. He finally got to create a part of me. It may not be blood but it is ink that will never leave my body. It's something I get to look at everyday and be thankful for. It's something that means something to me and him, not anyone else.

So when you think you have an opinion on some black lettering on someones forearm, remember that it's not on yours. It doesn't alter your chances to find a job or a husband. But know that if it alters mine, then that job or husband does not have a place in my life anyways.