The 2010 Tattoo Campaign

One of the best things about my daughter is how relentlessly she herds me beyond the boundaries of my comfort zone. Case in point: the tattoo. Once her older sister came home from her first quarter at college with a swallow on her foot, the campaign was on. 


As she warmed to her theme, it seemed it would be easy to stonewall. I had the law on my side.  It isn't even legal to give a person under the age of 18 a tattoo in Washington State. I said, "Great idea! You've got lots of time to save up and think about what you really, really want to embed in your skin for the rest of your life!"  I even set up a tattoo collection jar where I would contribute money in exchange for her help around the house and yard.

Now she was inspired to read poetry, think metaphorically, and weigh every aspect of her life for tattoo-worthy material. Suddenly, she was a big fan of Walt Whitman. Ancestors were vetted for the number one spot. Everything was profound. There was so much to ponder and I was hopeful that the campaign would bog down indefinitely while options were shuffled and drawn out for mystical consideration like cards in a tarot deck.


Then one day in the high school parking lot, her friend Julie rolled up the edge of her sweatshirt to reveal a souvenir from a recent trip to Arizona.  She was sporting a tat on her hip. Would I consider flying to Arizona to get my daughter a tattoo?  No, I think not. 

This led to a new line of research: state law. What about Idaho? What about Oregon? What about Canada?!


She turned seventeen. Birthday money arrived. She settled on a winsome, cherry blossom illustration. One by one the barriers went down until there was only one thing standing in her way - my will power.

On a sunny spring day, the tattoo campaign came to a conclusion. My petite daughter, who fusses and whines about vaccinations and blood draws, spent almost two hours under a needle guided by an enormous, shaggy, crabby Canadian while I sipped tea and read the Vancouver Sun in a nearby cafe. 

I have no regrets and neither does she. Our tattoo-trip coincided with the Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival. The city was coated with wet blossoms and everywhere we drove, blossoms drifted through the neighborhood skies. In art and haiku, cherry blossoms represent impermanence and remind us that one form of life gives way to another. One form of thought gives way to another, too. It was the perfect day to change my mind.