auroch

i got a tattoo on wednesday, at the place on the bridge that looks like it wants to harvest your organs. the name is 'rite of passage', which only adds to the terrifying effect, written in red block letters. inside, there are streamers of skulls strung across the ceiling, black leather couches with pillows shaped like bats, and sketches of the seven deadly sins on the back wall.

the man who did my tattoo was named jack pendergrass. he had metal plugs, a nine-year-old daughter named shannon, and hands that shook if he didn't have a cigarette every hour. he stuck out his tongue whenever he concentrated, which was most of the time, as our conversation took place while he was tattooing my thigh. he grew up in soddy daisy, and he didn't laugh when i told him about a conversation i overheard at stone cup when one stringy, smoking boy said to another about a hick girl they were laughing about, "she's so soddy daisy, she knows the difference between soddy and daisy." the girl at the table next to them turned out to be from soddy daisy herself and she jumped into the midst of their conversation at that comment, declaring herself to be from the daisy side. i thought it was a nice story about soddy daisy pride, but jack didn't seem to think so.

jack told me about his daughter, about how he wanted to take her to europe to travel and see the world, but that her mother, his 'baby mama', didn't think she was old enough to go. i told him about a trip i took with my dad when i was nine, going around the greek island of thassos on a boat on a beautiful june day.

he seemed to like my tattoo pretty well, saying that he'd never done a cave painting before and he liked the 'clean lines.' when i asked him if he had a favourite tattoo that he'd done, he shook his head and said that his favourite tattoos weren't necessarily the ones that were the prettiest or the most challenging, but the ones that made people the happiest. he said he'd just as soon tattoo pink hearts and curly music notes on people if his customers were pleased by his work. we talked for a long time about the ethics of tattooing- the idea of permanence, the issue of racist or gang-related tattoos, the artistry behind something that couldn't be scrapped and begun again.

that's the beauty of a tattoo. it's there forever. that sentiment, that idea, that person- they stay with you, physically on your body. my tattoos remind me first of god's grace and his triumph on the cross and then secondly of my response to that grace: praise, from the heart. auroch on my thigh, tune my heart on my shoulder.