The inking of three generations
BY FAYE MICHELSON
It couldn’t hurt that much, could it?
Four generations of our family had gathered for the weekend to celebrate my mother’s 90th birthday in a beautiful house by the beach. On the Saturday afternoon, three generations of the women of our family gathered in the living area for her special birthday activity.
So, how would a 90-year-old choose to spend an afternoon with her daughters and granddaughters? Watching her favourite movie? Doing a fun craft activity together?
We were getting a tattoo.
An enterprising granddaughter had organised for the tattooist to come to the house, and as she set up her portable bed and laid out her equipment, the nervous energy in the room increased. Five of the seven of us were ink-free, and to be honest, none of us had ever thought that status would change. But here we were, baring our arms, ready to be tattooed with a forget-me-not motive chosen by the family matriarch.
We made said matriarch go first because if she didn’t go through with it, we certainly weren’t going to! So, she did. And so did we, one by one, lying on the table, arms extended.
Common celebration
It was a group activity. We stayed in the room, watching and supporting each other as our little community of women with the same tattoo grew. And the sense of celebration increased with each completed forget-me-not.
Our fourth generation, great-granddaughters aged five to 12, watched with interest as their great-grandmother, grandmother, great-aunts, aunt and cousin were tattooed.
Did it hurt? It was only a few weeks ago, and already I can’t really remember. But what I can remember is the feeling of being a part of something with the women of my family. We all have the same little flower in the same place on our arms, done at the same time.
Looking around at the four generations that afternoon reminded me of that lovely verse in Proverbs chapter 17, verse 6. “Grandchildren are the crown of the aged, and the glory of children is their parents.” It was so true. We were all proud of each other.
I also loved overhearing one of the youngest generation, a 10-year-old, say to her mum, “When I turn 18, I’m going to get the same tattoo.”
