Tattoo

Tattoos.

When I was a child tattoos were uncommon. Poppye had a tattoo. Sometimes navy men had a tatoo especially those who came back from the Second World War. Often they were obtained overseas or in a port city after a drunken night of fun.

Tattoos were often seen in articles in the National Geographic about natives of foreign lands. Quequeg the native in Mody Dick had tattoos.

Tattoos at one time separated people. Nice people did not have them. Rough people did.

Tattoos were the stuff of motorcycle gangs, the Hell's Angels, the Outlaws and other mechanized tribes of the wild, individualistic, and the unruly. They went well together with leather, studs and Harleys.

Tattoos can be found in prisons-not only in the United States but in foreign countries as well. I once read a book about tattoos in the Russian Gulag and all that they meant. Today tattoos are often done in prison and have much meaning, just as they do in the Russian Gulag.

The tatoos that a lifer receives is often different than those who get out. In prison, I have seen people tattoo their face. After all they are not terribly concerned in making a good impression on a job interview. But for those who get out, they often are able to cover their tattoos by wearing shirts, or long sleeve shirts so as to make a better impression.

My children introduced me to tattoos. The Frog Prince (a.k.a. the Emerald Prince) began to grow them-so to speak. At first he came home with a rose on his arm. Why a rose, who knows?
The rose led to other tattoos including Indian feathers on the shoulder. This idea, I think, arose as he was smoking a peace pipe with some of his friends who began to experiment with various Indian religious drugs. In a stale cloud of marijuana smoke, the Frog Prince had an epiphany. Why not make money by going into tattooing. Never mind that the Frog Prince did not have any particular artistic talent. All he needed was a tattoo gun some ink, and wampum was on the way. He bought the tattoo gun, and began to work on his own tattoo. After all the canvas was blank, he had ink--what more could he do. It was after a little practice on himself (after all do you think his friends were going to let him practice on them) that he discovered that this talent was not as good as he had once believed. Then it was time for a little remedial work by an expert.

As he found himself as a guest of the good State of Middle Wilderness, he found that he had time on his hands. It is not too difficult to make a little ink, obtain a pen and , by the way, some of the guests of the State, were fairly good artists. One especially, who, I believe was in for offing a couple of his wives or girl friends, was a particularly good artist, selling his artistic services for making birthday cards for Moms and girlfriends and the like, was able to do very sensitive work. Indeed, he was a true artist who unfortunately found his calling only after incarceration.
And so the tattoos grew, and grew and grew.

Well, the Frog Prince (a.k.a. the Emerald Prince) taught us that tattoos were not just for boys. He brings his "main squeeze" home to visit us. Now HarleyDad and Brokerbelle have a swimming pool. But that is another story for another time. At any rate we ask this young lady and the Frog Prince if they want to swim. No, they reply. As they are leaving, Harley Dad notices that the young lady seems to have a tatoo on the back her neck. Regrettably I ask about it and learn that the young lady has an upside down bat tattooed all over her back. Would HarleyDad like to see it. HarleyDad decides that idea is not one that should not be pursued.

So much for lesson one on tattoos.