My First Tattoo

The anniversary of my first tattoo

Everyone remembers their first time right?

No, not that you weirdos.

Take one look at me and something that you can learn pretty quickly is that I like getting tattoos.

I just counted. I have more than 20. Sometimes I forget where all of them are.

Some have a lot of meaning. Others don’t have as much anymore. I think that’s ok because at one time that story on my body meant something. Sometimes that’s a way to overcome whatever issue that tattoo speaks to.

Sometimes it’s a memory.

I have tattoos of band logos. I have a tattoo of the Packers when they won Super Bowl XLV.

The one that I still remember the most, is the first one I ever got.

I was 17 at the time, and I told my dad I wanted to get a tattoo.

The first thing he told me was that I couldn’t take it back to Wal-Mart. These things don’t wash off.

Essentially, I think he was trying to make sure I thought through what I wanted, and that it wasn’t a girl’s name or anything silly like that. (well… I did get a woman’s initial tattooed on me later in life so was it that silly? yes… yes it would have been)

A few weeks prior to that conversation I had gotten a business card from a customer at the store I was working at at the time. The artist’s name was Donny Price.

When I told my dad about that he chuckled because that was the same guy that did his only tattoo over a decade ago.

Donny had a shop by the Taco Bell in a little mini-mall that no longer exists in Rockford.

I told my dad the idea. Vinnie Schwartz drew it for me.

It was time to go to the parlor.

Walking in was a bit of an experience for me. I wasn’t “sheltered” by any stretch, but it was a little jarring to meet Donny who had several piercings on the front of his forehead.

One problem. Donny wasn’t about to let someone underage get a tattoo in his shop. It was illegal at the time, even if my dad was willing to sign for me.

I was crushed.

Sure, I was turning 18 in 7 months, but what 17-year-old has any patience?

What that gave me was more time to think about things.

There was a lot to consider here. I’ll remind you where I went to school.

Christian Life was such a great place in my life, but there were some people around that weren’t my biggest fan anyways.

All of that is funny to think back on because all the things those people thought I was could not be any further from the truth.

That being said, adding a tattoo to my alleged resume at the school wasn’t exactly going to do me any favors.

In fact, after I got the tattoo, the administration told me I had to wear sleeves at all times to work out in the weight room.

Maybe that was because of what the picture is, but I digress.

Also, permanence can be scary. That being said, I was convinced.

I went back into the parlor and told Donny that he did my dad’s tattoo, I wanted him to do mine.

He smiled and told me to set the appointment and he would treat things as a piercing.

So I did.

That night becomes a bit of a story as well.

My dad became famous for doing things like this with my mom. She jokes that he went out to get paper towels once and came back with a big-screen TV.

This was similar. Dad and I were going to the store, allegedly.

We went to the store, but made a pit stop at a tattoo parlor first.

I had some nervous energy, but was also excited. I’ll never forget the sound of the drill turning on for the first time.

Chills shot up my spine.

I thought to myself - here goes nothing.

About 90 minutes later, it was done. My arm was swollen, but the pain wasn’t anything special. I learned later that was very much due to location. Other tattoos have hurt, but I can proudly say I’ve never tapped out.

That was the finished product the night it happened.

I won’t go through the meaning, because I don’t have to explain it to anybody. It’s something only I know, and it’s going to stay that way.

What came out of that night more than the new ink was a lifelong relationship.

I mentioned that I’ve been back to get several more tattoos.

Donny has done all but two of them. I’ll be loyal to him because I don’t mess around when something is permanent.

Donny has always taken good care of me, so I’ll take care of him.

I’ve watched his three young girls grow up. I’ve watched him grow too. We aren’t best friends or anything like that, but there is a bit of a bond between the two of us.

I’m thankful for the company that night. I’m thankful for the experience.

I’m thankful for some of the funny memories that came with it.

My mom was pissed because that’s not what we said we were doing. My GP was mad because she didn’t approve.

They all got over it as family tends to do.

I’m thankful for some of the stupidity that followed. I mentioned the whole “having to wear sleeves” everywhere thing. I’m thankful for the whispers of “satanic images” that were on my arm.

It’s a skull. That is all.

On the surface at least.

Beneath that? It’s a story about how the things that go wrong in your life can drive you. Forgive and move on? Yes, I believe in that.

Forget? Nope.

John 13:7 says you may not know, but some day you’ll understand.

You cannot understand if you forget the low moments in live.

The highs are only as high as they are because you know what the lows feel like.

This is a small example, but that’s why winning in sports feels so good, because you know how bad it feels to lose too.

That’s as much as you’re going to get out of me for what that means, but it was fun. I appreciate the experience.

I appreciate Donny for bending the rules. I appreciate my dad for letting me. This was my first “big” decision into adulthood.

It helped.

He always knew the right answer. He was right to let me go that night too.

Although… had he not maybe I would have saved a couple of bucks later in life :)