My 16-year-old wants a tattoo. Sort of.
She’s deathly afraid of needles, so I’m not exactly losing sleep over the thought of her sneaking into some seedy strip mall shop to permanently brand herself.
Still, Miss C. won’t let something as trivial as fear stand in her way. Her creativity finds ways of working around these kinds of problems.
Around 6:40 this morning, I bounded dragged my tired ass down the stairs and Jon tells me he thinks our oldest stayed awake until some ungodly hour to draw on her feet. I could hear the annoyance in his voice.
I think I managed a “Hmmph” as I dropped on the couch to watch the local news. She’s drawn on herself before. Most of the time, I think she does it because she knows we don’t like it. Usually, it’s sort of a half-assed doodle or something. All I know is that it’s too early to make a federal case, so I pretty much ignore it.
Fast forward to this afternoon.
Miss C. shows me what caused the early morning commotion.
This isn’t a half-assed doodle.
As she’s showing me and explaining she knows she’s ticked off her father, her tone grows increasingly defensive.
“What is the big deal?” she asked.
I told her something about drawing on yourself is for kids and it looks tacky.
I pretty much blew her off.
I know she hates it whenever I lecture her about stuff like this, so I thought I did the right thing by not making a big deal.
It seems I was wrong.
As the afternoon wore on she fired off a series of questions:
If I ever got a tattoo, would you disown me?
Would you hate me?
Would you constantly lecture me about how much you hate it?
What would you do?
Is this her way of trying to rebel? To push our buttons? If she knows we don’t like something, she typically lets it go.
She wasn’t having any of that tonight.
After dinner, she asked again. “What is the big deal? I really want to know.”
I explained I’ve never liked tattoos. I think they’re tacky and, for the most part, unattractive. My father had one and I didn’t like his. I think they look unprofessional, and as a young lady about to look for a new job, covering herself with body art may not be the best choice.
I said I feel people look different at those who have lots of tattoos or large tattoos, essentially judged based on their appearance.
Is that fair? No.
Is it reality? Yes.
“Would you do that to me?” she challenged.
I assured her: nothing changes how I feel about my daughter. I love her. I like her. And, I’m very proud of her.
I’m not sure I convinced her.
She asked me if I liked the design she created. As always, I told the truth.
“Yes. I do”
She told me that it shouldn’t matter whether it’s on her feet or her hand or her arm; doing this is a form of self-expression that is harmless–and temporary. She feels it represents her personality–a quality which shows why she belongs in art school.
“I know there are the right times and places for this,” she insisted. “I’d just wash it off when it’s not appropriate.”
She hesitated for a moment before continuing.
“I don’t want to hide this from you, but I really don’t want you arguing with me all the time about it either.”
Words I always prayed I’d hear from my daughter: I don’t want to hide this from you, Mom.
Not that long ago, I told Miss C. that one day soon, something would come up where we would have to agree to disagree. In the past, usually when I say I don’t like something, that’s the end of the story. I may get an eye roll or a sigh or a weak defense of her position, but, in the end, mama always wins.
Today, she decided to stand up and say “No, I don’t agree with you and I’m not backing down.”
No screaming, no tears, no drama. Just passionate debate.
At first, the whole discussion simply pissed me off. It seemed trivial, but to her it wasn’t.
Finally, I said. “In the big picture, this isn’t a big deal. Why the hell are we going round and round about this?”
She looked right at me. “That’s kinda what I’ve been wondering all along.”
Damn.
Jon and I wonder why she hasn’t considered going into law. She knows how to deliver a compelling argument.
In the end, I told her I wanted to make sure that the markers she used are safe and if not, let’s find something that won’t, you know, poison her in the long run. I promised I wouldn’t lecture, but told her I still didn’t like the thought of her creating masterpieces on easily visible parts of her body. And, while she convinced me to let her use her judgement (for the time being) she didn’t completely sell me on the idea of body art, as a whole. We’ll see how this agreeing to disagree works out as she tests the limits.
Part of me feels like I caved in and sold out. But, I’ve always been a big preacher of “pick your battles”. Doing that is a lot easier, though, when you’re used to victory.
I just hope that by showing we can have a calm, yet, spirited, discussion helps me win the war when it comes to her confiding in me about the really serious stuff I know is out there.
QUESTION: What you let your teen or tween do even though you may not agree with it 100%? Why did you decide to “give up the fight”? I’d really love to hear what you’re dealing with, because I know we’re just getting started down this road.
NOTE: This post will be the first in a series of posts about various debates/arguments I have with my girls. We’re pretty opinionated in my house, so it should make for some interested reading!
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