Branded For Life

I’m standing at the bathroom sink, brushing my teeth with the door wide open, when my parents walk up the stairs into the main part of the house. They’ve been on vacation for two weeks, and I’ve been holding down the fort and watching the pets for them.

“What the hell is that thing on your back? Please tell me it’ll wash off,” says Pop.

“Sorry, Charlie. This baby’s real, and there ain’t no washin’ it off.”

I am sixteen years old. My boyfriend and I know someone who’s going to tattoo school, whatever that is, and he does really cheap work for friends as practice. Sure, the law says you have to be eighteen to get inked without parental permission, but…no business, no law-abiding business owner. There are ways around everything.

***

That was a long time ago, and I can see now that it wasn’t necessarily my most shining moment. I could have handled it so much better by sitting down with my parents and discussing the possibility of a tattoo. They probably would have said no, but may have softened over time. Would it have killed me to wait until I was eighteen? No. Could I see that at the time? Of course not.

Because of a decision I made when I was sixteen years old, I am branded for life. My hand-drawn butterfly that looked so cool on paper resides on my left shoulder blade, in all its fading glory. It shows over the neckline of some of my shirts, and every time I catch a glimpse of it in a mirror, I am reminded of that decision…that sixteen-year-old “rebel,” who thought it was such a good idea at the time.

Like it or not, this baby is mine…fading ink and all. Even when it’s covered up with something else (which I’m thinking about more and more these days), I’ll still know what’s under there.

I look at my daughter, and I see a sweet, beautiful, intelligent, loving little girl. I see the spittin’ image of her momma. Hell, my folks call her by my name half the time, defending themselves by saying how very much she looks like I did at that age. So I know it’s not just me…there’s a bit of a family resemblance.

Like her momma, The Princess is also branded for life. The difference, though, is that my branding was the result of a choice I made. Hers is the result of who she is, how she's wired. Over time, the ASD brand may fade. It may even be obscured at times by other things. But, like it or not, it will always be there.

Not good, not bad…just there.