Since that faithful day when my father stupidly agreed to get a fake tattoo with me, my parents had to face the fact that one day their little girl would permanently mark her body with a real tattoo. But that never stopped them from trying to convince me it was a bad idea – or even thinking I was pranking them when I finally got my first tattoo.
A few weeks after my best friend and I took the plunge and become marked forever, I flew up to visit/vacation with my family in New York City (we are from North Carolina, but we decided to hang out in a cooler place than Raleigh). The very first second my father saw me when I met them at our hotel room: “Okay, lets see it.”
I sat down on the bed and pulled up my pants leg to show my dad, and he reached out to hold my foot – or at least I thought he was going to hold my foot. Instead, he grabs around my ankle and starts rubbing as hard as he could at the tattoo.
“DAD!! STOP DOING THAT!!! ITS REAL!!!” The look on his face was priceless, a mix of confusion, sadness, and marvel because the design was actually super good. And my mom was sitting across from us watching the entire display, laughing hysterically. As she always tells me dad, “Its really hard raising yourself, isn’t it?” (Dad had always joked about getting a tattoo, at one point saying he would get one when he finally retired [he hasn’t followed through with this – yet] and now his daughter followed through with her threat by getting one). I’m 99% sure my mother still laughs every time I come home with a new tattoo.