Have I Ever Told You About…

The first tattoo I ever got?

I was 30, my oldest daughter was visiting her dad, and I had my youngest clinging to my hip. I had thought about getting a tattoo my whole life. When I was young, I made a deal with myself. If I still wanted one at 30, then I could get it.

The weekend of my 30th came, and I asked around at work about where to go. Everyone said to check out a tiny shop in a strip mall near the office with the word “TATTOOS” over the door. I went there with a friend who agreed to wrangle my little one while I got inked.

The shop was tiny. White walls, cheap linoleum, two reclining chairs that looked like they belonged in a massage parlor, and a couple of tiny stools for the artist.

I told the man what I wanted. Two dolphins jumping, beaks facing each other, tails touching to form a heart. One blue, one pinkish-red, on the outside of my left ankle. I was nervous. I wanted this, but I had no idea how much it would hurt. The artist worked quickly. I sweated like I was in a triathlon. When it was done, I was thrilled. Instructions in hand, I headed home feeling like I had just claimed a little piece of independence.

I called my mom first. I told her what I had done.

Silence.

Then she asked why, and I explained. After a long sigh, she suddenly started laughing hysterically.

“John! John, are you listening?” she yelled.

“What? What is it?” my dad yelled back.

“This is JS on the phone! Guess what she just did today? She got a tattoo!”

I could hear them both cracking up while I waited. Once the laughter subsided, my mom told me to call her when the birthday card they had sent out the day before arrived. I had no idea why, but I promised.

The next day, the card arrived. I called her so we could open it together. It was one of those over-the-top, ridiculously cheesy cards parents send to their youngest child turning 30. I read it aloud:

“Happy Birthday to our wonderful, amazing, slightly chaotic youngest child. Thirty years ago, you arrived with a scream and a head of hair that made the doctor laugh. You still make us laugh, leave your socks on the floor, and somehow convince us to take you out for ice cream when we really need to go to the bank. We are so proud of you. You are fearless. You are bold. You are sometimes a little weird, but at least you haven’t gone and got yourself a tattoo.”

I paused. “A tattoo?” I said.

Cue laughter. They knew immediately that line was no longer true. We laughed so hard I nearly dropped the phone.

Since then, I have collected many tattoos, and I will continue to add more. But that first one—the dolphins forming a heart on my ankle—will always make us laugh when we talk about it. My birthday present to myself came with ink, pride, a little pain, and a story my parents teased me about for many years.

-J.S. Whaldo