For his birthday last week, my friend Giselle and her son Aiden gave Max a giant book of 500 tattoos. I left the house for no more than thirty minutes this morning, and this is what I came home to--my son the drunken sailor! Obviously, Daddy and Max had some fun while I was out. You can't see it in this photo, but his back is also covered, along with the name "MAX" printed across the knuckles of his right hand. You can tell he is feeling pretty cool in this photo.
When Max was about nine months old, my dad made the very generous offer to pay for me to have my own (real) tattoos removed by a plastic surgeon. His reason, I concluded, had to do with Max and the sort of "example" he felt I was setting for my son. I considered his offer, but not for very long. First of all, it would have been a long, painful, and extremely expensive process--and despite the fact that I have one tattoo in particular that I do NOT love and would like to be rid of--they are part of who I am. And they have absolutely nothing to do with what sort of "example" I set for my son. What is much more important than my ink is that he sees me as kind, compassionate, loving, hardworking, smart, responsible, and decent in every way.
If he eventually gets a tattoo because he admires me for these reasons and wants to be like me, then so be it. And in the meantime, I think he looks pretty cute in his newfound role as "tough guy."
2 years ago