Tattoos - A Different Kind of Discrimination

I left the house today in a sleeveless shirt, a nice dressy one paired with clean, comfortable jeans that I save for special outings and some dress shoes.  My hair was down but it's obvious that it's clean, brushed and taken care of.  I wasn't wearing make-up today but that's not unusual for me either and aside from that, I was having a girl's day out to a movie and maybe some dinner with my buddy Miss M so, make-up was not a necessity.  A greasy, fast food supper that would hit the spot with it's horrific, heart attack inducing deliciousness.  Sorry, it's been a while since I've had the pleasure of A&W and A&W is where everything ends up in this post but first, let's get the details underway.

Everything was great when we went out aside from getting stuck in the rain and having no coat.  We managed to time the bus perfectly, had enough time to wander around some shops and sat in the movie theatre with an almost perfectly timed arrival with perfect sweet spot, dead centre seats.  Everything was perfect to watch some 3D zombie mayhem.

So, here's the issue:  when I go out with shorter sleeves it becomes apparent that I have tattoo work.  I'm working on a full sleeve on my left arm so I'm tattood from shoulder to wrist, have a couple of tats on my right arm, a piece on my chest and sprinkling of a few more in places less visible.  Today my arms and chest tattoos were out for the world to see.  Usually I think nothing of it and just go about my business with the attitude that these are mine, they're personal to me and if someone doesn't like them then don't look. By some standards I have a lot of work done, by others I have very little.  Tattoos and everything that surrounds them is subject to a lot of different factors with the biggest one being preference, of course.

Every time my tattoos are visible, I see people look and that's fine, I look at tattooed people too.  I do it because I love the art of it, the fact that we can use our skin as a canvas to tell our story amazes me.  I assume people think the same way I do, whether it's a respectful fascination and appreciation like mine or simply wondering what the hell is wrong with painted people, it's okay with me.  I've been pointed at and that's okay too.  I'm sure I am not the first or the only person with ink that has had someone point at them.  Sometimes people stop to ask me questions out of curiousity or a fellow collector in the permanent ink club and sometimes it's the weird guy who thinks that he can lick his finger and try to rub them off.  Sorry dude, they're not fake and you could have just asked.

I understand that even though our current population has more people with tattoos than without and the art is steadily becoming more mainstream, there is still a lot of prejudice when it comes to people with ink.  I still wear long sleeves on job interviews and cover them as much as I can in more "professional" situations.  My intelligence or capabilities did not drop when the needle banged some ink into my skin and my IQ doesn't drop with every new piece of work.  I see the issue with acceptance though, that some people just don't like the way they look and the old cliches that only the dregs of society have tattoos still sit in the back of some people's minds.

I guess what I'm saying is that while choosing to be tattooed, I also chose to be discriminated against.  I knew it going in but sometimes I'm just amazed at the lengths people will go to or what they'll say.  I have a family member tell me once that I'm intimidating because I look like I just got out of prison (no colour ink in the joint but they don't understand that) or some people drop their gaze from mine when walking toward me but that could be because I'm usually smiling like an idiot and say hello to everyone (a cultural thing that hung on and never let go).  To be honest though, I don't encounter much more that the occasional look or a point.  Long story short:  I am not a sailor, an ex-con, in a gang or a prostitute and I'm not intimidating.  I'm just me.

So with all that said, let's place myself and Miss M in A&W finishing those wonderful burgers.  We need to catch the bus back home so I run to the washroom to have a little tinkle before we head to our stop.  On my way I see a tiny girl with her grandmother happily bouncing about.  On my way back out of the bathroom, I see the same pair of cute little girl in glasses and the grandmother sitting at the table next to where Miss M and I are sitting.  The grandmother meets up with me as she's going to the counter getting their food, I smile and say hello and keep going to get Miss M so we can be on our way.  The lady I said hello to did not smile back but returned the greeting with that up-and-down look I'm all to familiar with and gave me a scowl.  That's okay, she's her own person and that's not an uncommon reaction to an unsolicited hello in the city.

Things changed for me when I sat at my table and noticed the grandmother moving her little girl away from me, looking at me like I was standing there with an ax in my hand as she swooshed the little girl clear across the restaurant.  At this point I'm shocked but my stomach flips when I notice she physically turns this kid's head when she notices the little one looking in my general direction while once again scowling at me.

My heart hurt.  Here was a wonderful opportunity for this little girl, nor more than three or four, to ask some questions or even just point at the colourful girl and instead her grandmother instilled the idea that tattooed people are to be kept at a distance.  I wanted to tell her that each of the cherry blossoms represent someone that I have loved and lost, the Buddha on my wrist reminds of my beliefs in living the best life possible by showing respect and love, the lotus on my chest with the skulls is something as simple as coming to terms with horrible decisions and finally being at peace with them, the ohm a meditative symbol, the treble clef a reminder of my pianist mother, my kids' birthdays in Roman numeral and the symbol of family with them.  I wanted to tell her that each of my three children are represented on my body with their own tattoo and that each and every one I have tells part of the story of the life I have lived so far.  I really do wear my heart on my sleeve or rather, have my heart permanently etched onto my body.

I don't know if this should have bothered me as much as it did but it made me sad to see someone so disgusted by my appearance which in all other ways was clean and normal and to project that disgust to the small child she was with.  I know I said I accepted the discrimination with the body art but sometimes, it hits a little too close.