The story behind my first set of tattoos

Yesterday, I showed off my back, and the tattoos on my back. Most people don't get what they are without seeing the front. Even then a few people need to be spotted a clue. They're bullet holes. Entrance wounds on the front, and corresponding exit wounds on the back. They aren't the most detailed because I got them when I was 18 and didn't know enough about tattoo artists at the time. I got them from a shop that was mediocre at best. He had all of the sterilization gear, a health department license, and a new clean shop, tho. That's all I thought was important at the time.

I came out of high school a very hurt, angry, and lonely boy. I started college when I was 17 and during that time my parents seperated and the pre-divorce battle began. I was so painfully shy, I didn't talk to anyone new in college and all of the people I knew from high school went to other colleges or stayed in Milwaukee. I went to the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater which is only an hour or so from Milwaukee and Madison, but I didn't have a car so I was stuck in BFE. I pulled so far into myself that I stopped living my life. The only things I was doing by the end of that year was eating, sleeping, reading, and keeping my roommate away from the phone when he got drunk. Notice that going to classes wasn't on the list? I had stopped trying in November of the first semester, so in May, I was kicked out with a 0.6 GPA. Probably the dumbest mistake I've ever made.

So there I was out of college, alone, angry at the world, and too clueless to realize what really happened. I wanted to blame everyone but myself. I decided to try to express myself, show the world how I felt, and if it pissed off mom and dad, even better. I came up with the idea to show off the pain I felt constantly, and drew it up. The artist just about copied it directly from what I gave him, and started working. Three hours later, I had what you saw above. The only thing I regret about them is the quality of the work, I should've found someone willing to take the time to make the large areas on the back more detailed.

The meaning of those tattoos have changed in my mind aver the years. When I first got them, they symbolized my pain, and how life had scarred me. Now I like to think it shows how a great deal of my pain is self-inflicted and long lasting.

One odd thing happened after I got these, is how my parents reacted to them. My mom is the more open-minded of my parents who goes to great lengths to show how modern and metropolitan she is. Both of my parents grew up in central Wisconsin's farm country, but my dad shows his roots more. He's quite conservative, frugal with money, and hates to see waste. My parents eventually heard about my tattoos from my little brother. My mom saw them and was disgusted. I wasn't too surprised by her reaction, tho. When I went to my dad's next and he asked to see them, I was expecting a lecture or worse. What did I get when he saw them? Questions. Lots of questions. He was curious and interested in them. I wondered at the time who had replaced my dad with a pod person.

Hope you enjoyed the tale. Let's hear your thoughts on tattoos, parents, and growing up...