My Warrior Princess

Current work in progress

I love tattoos. I think they're fascinating, beautiful, can be extremely attractive on members of the opposite sex and are an interesting way of expressing oneself.  I got my first tattoo when I was 16 years old.  My girlfriend and I, rebellious and full of sass, made our way over to Rideau Street one afternoon that we both had off from our restaurant job during summer break.  Pete's Tattoos was located above the still infamous Rock Junction in Ottawa and we walked in with pictures of the ink that we each wanted.


We entered purposefully because we had spent the whole morning psyching ourselves up and we walked in with a clear mission.  Pete and the other guy looked us up and down, paused, then asked us "Are you two of the age of majority?"  Being the leader in this venture, I responded with a well crafted, "What's that?".  "Are you both 18??"  After only a moments hesitation I nodded my head and said "Ohhh, yes, of course we are, right?" and turned to my friend who, despite looking like a deer caught in the headlights, nodded her assurance along with me.  So we sat in the dingy chairs and went on to have our first permanent art needled into our skin.


I'd wanted a tattoo since a very young age.  My parents had a close friend who we spent a lot of time around who had tattoos.  He had a stamp that looked like one of the ones he had on his arm and he used to stamp it on his son's and my arm, much to my delight.  But I couldn't understand why mine washed off and his didn't.  I guess my Mom never thought the desire would stick, she never complained.  But that's when I caught the body art bug.


So I left Pete's that afternoon feeling quite bold, mature and maybe just a little wicked.  I was officially bad-ass with my little smiley moon face on my chest.  I worked up the courage to show my Mom a few days later who seemed rather nonplussed except to say "Well that will look nice in a ball-gown."  Reaction to it was not too extreme and my Grandma even seemed resigned when she finally saw it over the next few months.  The only reservations I ever encountered was when I was about to meet the mother of this guy I'd been dating for a couple of months.  Just before walking into the house, he turned to me and said "Just so you know, my Mother believes that the only people who have tattoos are prostitutes and criminals.  Maybe some sailors."  That made for one of many awkward meeting of the parents over the years.


I've since had new ink on momentous occasions or at times of major change in my life.  One for my college graduation, one when I left the Ex and one this week that coincided with the finalization of my divorce - the one in the picture here.  It's not finished, but when it is, it will have covered that first tattoo.


When I got my kids back the following weekend, they were pretty impressed, the Boy, only as impressed as his pre-teen self would allow himself to be, but the Girl was quite taken.  She oohed and ahhed and touched it gingerly while being mildly grossed out by the healing skin.


"Mom."


"Yes?"


"When I grow up, I'm going to get tattoos too."


She was looking at me intently.


"Ok, what kind are you going to get?"


"I'm going to get an axe on this arm and a sword on this arm."


She gestured along the length of each arm.  I was imagining that she might want a unicorn or a butterfly or...  Not a sword and an axe!?  She still wears a LOT of pink, plays with dolls and reads books about fairies.


"Oh?  The whole arm?"


"Both arms!"


"Please tell me more about this."


"Well, axes are cool.  And swords, well, swords are for stabbing people."


WHAT.  The.  fuck?


"Pardon?  We don't stab people.  You don't stab people!"


"Well no, but you would have to stab your enemies."


"Uh, do you have enemies?"


"No, but you never know Mom.  Swords are perfect against your arch-enemies."


She held my gaze intently for a moment longer, then smiled, leaned in and kissed me.


"I love you Mom!"


And she skipped off to play with her dolls.


The 50's and 60's gave birth to feminists, I never really considered the whole movement much until I left my marriage and really began to ponder what kind of messages I wanted to give, not only my daughter, but my son, about strong women.  I've never encouraged the use of swords against one's enemies (but I can't lie and say that it's never crossed my mind), but even though this was by far one of the stranger exchanges with the Girl, I'm not concerned.  Maybe she's my little warrior princess.  Maybe she will be able to balance her femininity with her strength.  I can only hope.


When I was getting this latest tattoo, the artist commented that she liked the addition of the heart, which I'd requested at the last moment and which she added in freehand.  She said that she much preferred to give someone a tattoo with positive messaging, because I'd explained to her that love was important to me, even if the heart could be construed as kitschy.  She said that it makes her sad when people want to permanently etch negative quotes onto their bodies.  "Our thoughts are powerful when they're only thoughts.  When we speak them aloud they become even more powerful.  When we write them down it's even more powerful. When you etch a message into your own skin in your own blood, that's pretty fucking powerful."