Tattoos and legacy

I met a guy a few weeks ago that had a tattoo that said “mom” in a heart. You know, like the cliché tattoos they give to sailors in old cartoons. But there was a compass rose behind the heart and an “N” above the north point. I asked him about it, because what people choose to put on their bodies permanently is interesting to me. He got the tattoo in memory of her. She was the guiding force in his life, his reference point. So the compass rose and “N” made sense. And they watched the Mariners together, so the compass rose works double duty as a reminder of time spent in a shared passion. 

A coworker of mine lost his grandfather last week. He got a tattoo on his forearm that is based on his memory of his grandfather. There’s a hammer, because he fixed things. Horseshoes, because he loved the game. And the words “Colossians 3:12.” The text of the verse is, “Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.” That his grandfather made him think of that verse, of those things, speaks of vast respect.

There is something fitting about a tattoo as a memorial. It’s permanent, in a sense. As permanent as we are and, by extension, as permanent as our memory of the deceased. The act of getting tattooed is painful, an act of blood and ink and controlled violence. And it gives us an opportunity to show what we love or remember most about those that are gone. It is, in short, the best reason to get a tattoo that I can think of. It’s a visible reminder of the effect we have on each other.

Those two tattoos got me thinking about legacy. About how the people around us mark us, scar us, change us. And about how I do the same to others. We go around leaving these invisible tattoos on people. These words and pictures that capture who we are in their eyes. I wondered if I would be proud of the tattoos I’ve made on other people. If I would be proud of my legacy.

Thoughts like that move me: that who I am affects others, that who I am either brings people closer to God or farther away, that who I am either brings light or darkness into the chaotic dance we call life. There are times I am lazy or mean or cruel, and after those moments I am haunted by thoughts of phantom tattoos stretching across skin, cruelty emblazoned on flesh. 

It is my hope that one day I will leave tattoos like my coworker’s grandfather. Tattoos that speak of love and patience, kindness and humility. Tattoos that speak of a life spent making the world just a little better than it is now.