The Dolphin Tattoo

This is a paper I wrote for Dr. Rush about my near "tattoo" experience ....

“The Dolphin Tattoo”

Over the past several years I have been somewhat fascinated by tattoos, and how they represent or reflect the personality of the person bearing them. Growing up in the “proper” Southern household, I was taught that tattoos were for drunks, bikers, and crooks; my grandmother considered anyone with a tattoo to be either a dope fiend or low life. My life took many turns, and one of those turns was to the U.S. Navy. While at AT School in Orlando, while being under the influence of liquid bravado, my bunkmate and I sought out a tattoo shop to get a tattoo. My intention was to get a dolphin over my belly button. For me this was a major taboo, although I was twenty one, away from home, and for all intensive purposes my own person; yet the vision of my grandmother shaking her head in disappointment just went round and round in my head.

This tattoo was going to be my reward and symbol for toughing out Boot Camp, for doing what I didn’t think I could ever do, and also for getting rid of that “girl next door” label that everyone seemed to stick on me. I was far from the “girl next door”, behind closed doors I was the girl your mother warned you about. The dolphin, for me, represents freedom and beauty, and the ocean. In my heart, when I am close to the ocean, I feel more connected to God than any other place.

The night Jennifer and I were to go get our tattoos started, the preliminary drawing and preparation, I took some Motrin as a preventative pain measure (I’m a wimp, I know). We also partook of some liquid courage, and before I knew it I was laying back in the chair at the “Scarlet Letter” (I loved the name of that shop, especially it’s literary connotation) with my virgin belly exposed. Nick, the artist wiped me down with a solution, then proceeded to begin the ink drawing on my belly of the dolphin picture that I had brought with me. I giggled, then before I knew it I was doubled over, and Nick was not very amused. He then begin to bring out the ink and the needle, and before he could penetrate my delicate skin, I stopped him. I wasn’t ready for this. I had not thought it through, and I was chickening out for all intensive purposes.

Like marriage, a tattoo is a commitment, something that you are going to have to live with the rest of my life. I think I thought I was ready because my friend was ready, and I was doing this more for moral support, and justifying it by my own immature wisdom. I did pay Nick though, and gave him a generous tip for all his trouble, me. I sat in the chair and watched Jennifer get hers, a sunflower on her ankle. Jennifer’s tattoo represented the nickname her boyfriend had bestowed upon her, Sunflower. I held her hand, and she about broke my fingers. Evidently your ankle is a very tender place to be tattooed. It came out beautifully, and Jennifer beamed with pride, not only for the tattoo, but for enduring the pain to get it. It’s been almost 12 years, and she still feels proud of her sunflower, even though Darren, or Doug, or whatever his name was, is out of the picture. This sunflower to her, is a reminder of a time when she was young, and free, and ready to take on the world. No regrets, only that I didn’t get mine. I told her, someday, when I’m ready. Not just yet.