Why I Don't Have A Tattoo - Yet

My dad drove a tanker truck for Sinclair Oil for 35 years.

This is the type truck he first drove when he went to work with them in 1940.


This is the type truck he drove when he retired in 1976.

The pictures are a kind of a backdrop to my tale today.

I had commented to Lee over at Hormones, Headaches and Hot Flashes (http://www.headacheshormonesandhotflashes.com/) about piercing and tattoos. I have my ears pierced but no tattoos. Last Christmas I wore dangling Santa Clauses ear rings for our gift opening and diner party with the family. I was hot!!!

But I don’t have a tattoo and I have my dad to thank for that. You see, back in the day (in the ’40’s) one of his delivery locations was the Atlanta Federal Prison.

He would pull up to the gate and wait for the guards to open the huge doors. He would then drive in and get out of the truck while the gate was closed behind him. Then he and the truck were searched. After that he would climb back into the cab and drive through a second set of caged doors that opened for him. When in there the gate would close behind him and he would have to get out and wait in a holding area. When he was securely in the room, honor (trustees) prisoners would come out and drive his truck to the gas terminals and unload the truck.

While my dad was waiting, there was a trustee with him to cater to his needs (coffee, smokes, snacks, etc. Not what you normally hear about needs in prison - perverts.) Mostly they just taled and swapped lies. Till one day my dad ask about his tats. The prisoner (dad never did say what his name was) talked him into getting one on his arm.

So dad started bringing in pencils and a pocket knife and needles (those weren’t considered weapons of mass destruction back then.) And the prisoner started putting an American Flag on dads arm with the pencil lead and needles. He would get a little more done each time he made a delivery, about twice a month.

When the tat was about ¾ of the way through, the prisoner was killed in a fight. The trustee who took his place didn’t know how to do it nor had the artistic ability. So dad carried around the partially finished flag the rest of his life. I ask him why he didn’t have it finished professionally and he said he didn’t have the money (I personally think it was out of respect for the trustee who started it.)

Anyways, he always said that he regretted ever starting it and warned me about getting one. They are forever and what you think is cute now may not be so cute 40 years later. So I didn’t. I was probably the only sailor on my ship that didn’t get one. Guess I never got that drunk, but I didn’t spend many an hour in the tat shops with my mates while they got theirs. The most memorable is one night Donald and I were getting a little red devil on his upper arm. The logo read “Born To Raise Hell.” What made it so memorable is, Donald is now a Pentecostal Minister in NC. He uses the red devil as part of his testimony of how he went from sinner to savior - praise the Lord - or Bull Shit, what ever you believe.

But you know, I have been considering getting one lately. Maybe my family Coat of Arms on my upper arm.


Maybe with a little less flair around the edges, but the crest itself.

Or, as Carol over at 3!A Charm (http://cshulfer.blogspot.com/) reminded me, there is my ship logo,too.

What’da think? Which one do ya like most? Any suggestions of other types an old, wrinkled (thanks Carol) old man should consider?
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