If you are like me, the mom or dad of a teenager, it is hard to explain how fast the years go by. Especially, when you still feel young, are an artist, and surround yourself with interesting people.
But, I digress. Friday afternoon was cold and rainy and spring track practice was cancelled. My son Danny and his friend Sara decided to go out that afternoon. I could tell something was up, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. I just smiled, curled up with a good book and let them go.
He was back in a few hours, but pretty quiet. We picked up a pizza and salad as is our custom on Friday night and waited for Dad to come home. Then, he sat on the couch next to me. "Mom, nothing is wrong, but I have to tell you something and it has a good ending. But, first, I'm sorry, I didn't tell you where I was really going." Ah, the kid has a conscience, that's good.
He lifted up his shirt and there was a big surgical bandage.My heart skipped a beat as he peeled the bandage away. A tattoo! He got a tattoo. I really did feel light headed, I'm not sure what I said.
By the time my husband got home and a couple of his friends had stopped by to see it, I was feeling better. He called his dad at work to tell him, to ease the news I guess. Dads are really practical. What did daddy say, Dan? He said he really hoped I liked it, because I'm going to have to live with it for ever.
Later that night when my son had gone out, my husband and I were talking about how it seemed like only yesterday he was toddling across the floor with that smooth soft skin, grinning ear to ear. Oh, he's still grinning about that tattoo, only his idea of small, and ours is not quite the same.