Memories Made of Ink and Skin

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Photo Credit: birdtattoodesigns.com

Photo Credit: birdtattoodesigns.com

Heated. That’s what my dad was when I came home with my first tattoo.  The ironic thing was that my step-mom had not only taken me to get the tiny turtle permanently emblazoned onto my ankle, but she had also set up the appointment and paid for it too.  To this day, I look at that small Celtic-style turtle and have fond memories of the buzzing pain that marked it into my skin as well as the image of my friend, Richard, and I drawing it during Speech 101 during my freshmen year of college.

Since that first tattoo, I have ventured three more times into that chair to feel that annoying, bee stinging feeling that presses, needles, a rainbow of ink under my skin.  I guess I like nature because all of my tattoos are reminiscent of animals or the outdoors.  I have also drawn every one of my tattoos which is strange since I don’t consider myself an artist of any kind.

My next tattoo was a tiny flower that found a home on the top of my foot.  My best friend, Jessica, and I sat for hours drawing pictures of figures, images that we might consider inking on our bodies.  We ended up with a flower I drew that contained our initials.  People say it looks like a golf flag with its tiny leaf sticking off the side, but I just think of a crazy night with my friend and the excitement of imagining a “friends forever” scenario.

I have a butterfly on my back between my shoulder blades.  It’s not a traditional butterfly–more like a tribal/Celtic style.  It’s purple and I remember going back to complain that the artist hadn’t added enough color.  He added more a week later, and I can say that it hurt more the second time. I can’t see it, so sometimes I forget it exists, that is until one of my students notices it and says some smart ass remark.  Teenagers for you.  Since most of my students have tattoos, you would think it wouldn’t be such a big deal, but it is.

My last tattoo is a memorial, but not to someone who has died or to someone who has left me.  I have ocean waves in the center of the sun inked on my calf.  My first year of teaching was at a temporary position on the coast.  I’ve never wanted to live anywhere but near the ocean, so it felt like kismet to find my first job and house only a few miles from the crashing waves.  Sadly, I only spent one year teaching those fantastic kids, but I wanted to remember them, to remember the lessons I learned during that year and with those students.  One of my favorite students said to me on the last day, “Don’t cry. You shall be remembered.” This was what I wanted–for my students to not just remember me but to remember the impact I had on their lives, to remember that they are special and unique and powerful.  Those last four words surround my sun–You shall be remembered.

This winter, I will tattoo three little birds on my shoulder.  They will be flying away–flying into the sky of whatever comes their way.

 

Written in response to the Daily Prompt–Tattoo

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The Five Sides of a Student

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Photo Credit: deviantart.com

Photo Credit: deviantart.com

 

The Overachiever

Study, study, read.

Eyes become sandpaper orbs.

Only A’s will do.  

The Underachiever

I’ll try if I must,

But I will sleep if I can.

As long as I pass.

The Lonely One

Sitting alone now,

and every day. Perhaps a

friendship in college?  

The Bullied One

Crying in the stall.

They laugh and tease and gouge small

holes in my armor.

The Bully

Mean jokes and small barbs

make my own pain disappear.

I’m sorry…I’m scarred.

Written in response to the Weekly Writing Challenge–5 Haikus

Can’t Give Up

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Photo Credit: flickr.com

Photo Credit: flickr.com

We can’t help them all,

but why shouldn’t we try?

I watch their faces

fill with joy

from a kind word said

or a line of

encouragement.

Hidden behind

masks of dirt,

of poverty,

of pain,

of neglect,

their lights shine

stronger than

a thousand candles

meant to bless them.

Underneath

adult words,

harsh criticisms,

disbelief in themselves,

lies a force

more powerful than

the  sadness surrounding

them.

What we say matters

more than we realize.

We are their guides

and we can’t stop

believing in their

amazing ability

to go on,

to adapt,

to grow.

What we say matters.

They need to know how

amazing they are,

how they have the

ability to change

the universe,

to be what no one

thought they could be.

If we give up,

so will they.