25. Getting a Tattoo — Sixty to Sixty

A long time ago I watched a television documentary that followed two kids. One, despite living in poverty, glowed with purpose as he devoted his life to playing the saxophone and serving his community. The other (more privileged) kid spent days thinking about nothing but where to put her next piercing.

Getting a tattoo made me feel a bit like that kid, shallow and focused only on my own skin.

First, tattoos cost money. A lot of money. My little tat, about the length of a credit card, cost $200 before tip. Now, whenever I see someone with a sleeve or with body art covering their back, I think to myself, “You could have invested that money and in ten years you’d have a fortune!”

It also just feels kind of vain. Tattoos, by their nature, shout, “Look at me!”

I think my resistance to getting a tat shows my age. So many younger people I know - in their 20’s, 30’s and even 40’s - have tattoos as a matter of course. They serve as a right of passage or a means of self-expression. Not so in my generation. Very few friends my age sport any ink.

So why did I get one? This adventure quest is pushing me to try things I wouldn’t otherwise consider. I wanted the experience, to know what it feels like.

And I wanted it to be meaningful; after all, it’s going to be with me for the rest of my life. Nothing means more to me than my two kids, so I chose as my design a symbolic representation of their names: a rose and a star (as it turned out, a bunch of stars).

After reading a lot of online reviews of different tattoo artists, I chose to work with Jared at Chameleon Tattoo and Piercing in Harvard Square. We got off to an inauspicious start; I had neglected to bring any identification with me, and Board of Health regulations require a license, passport, or other government-issued ID. Chameleon won’t bend on regulations, which actually made me feel safe and glad I chose them. So I had to rush home, grab my ID, and rush back.

While I was gone, Jared took the pictures I had brought and put them on his tablet, and revised them according to my ideas and his knowledge of what would work best. When I returned, I approved the design, he printed it out, and we got ready to start.

He first washed his hands thoroughly, then slathered them with Purell, put on gloves, and laid a paper sheet on the tattoo table. He washed and disinfected my ankle, then applied the temporary tattoo he had made from the design. He would use this as a template, and draw over it with the tattooing needle and ink.

I decided to put the tattoo on my ankle, where I could see it without looking in two mirrors but where it would be relatively inconspicuous. Mark, who came with me to take pictures and provide moral support, asked Jared if it would hurt. “Not too much,” he said, “but the ankle can be tough.”

It turned out to be less painful than I anticipated, pinching a little but nothing that made me flinch - except the part right around the ankle bone. Ouch.

Jared worked with focus and skill. He’s plied his art for the last 12 years; you can see his work here. When we asked him about the craziest request anyone has made for a tattoo, he said, “Food.” People want slices of pizza, for example, permanently etched on their bodies. Go figure.

The process for my little tat took about an hour. While I needed a bit of an adjustment period to get used to it, I’m really happy with the result - even though “star” daughter is envious of the rose (“It’s so much prettier than the stars!”). Oh, well. I love the rose and the stars that sparkle just like she does.

I’ll smile - into perpetuity - when I look at my right ankle, but I’m one and done. No more body art for me, but I’d go back to Jared in a minute if I did want another one.

When I told a friend about feeling frivolous, like the girl obsessed with her piercings instead of the kid committed to his music and his community, he said, “You can be both.” And he’s right. I like my tattoo. Now on to something more purposeful …

Chameleon Tattoo & Piercing, 36 JFK Street, Cambridge, MA: cost me $200; call for a consultation