Titi's Tatoo

On impulse (and while driving...) I dial my daughter’s cell phone.

They have been in Florida for almost three weeks now, vacationing with their dad and I am starting to miss them badly.

Her brother picks up and tells me that she can’t come to the phone because ... they are in a tattoo parlor and she is about to get a tattoo.

The cottony quiet that takes over the space between my ears feels weird.

After a few seconds, I hear my voice ask: “where?”

“Oh, at the bottom of her back, right above her butt.”

Cottony quiet again.

I say “Ok, honey, I’ll call back.”

Slowly, I pull over to the side of the road. I know I need to have a talk with myself.

Thank god for coaching, I know how to have those.

So I do.

And I ask myself what is “the essence” of my angst. I can tell that on the upper layers, there is a good dose of control swimming around. I would like to just say NO and be done.

But... she is in Florida. And she is 17. While a NO would most likely do it (possibly after some unpleasant words), it would not serve either one of us well, in the long run.

So I go deeper and I ask myself what it is that I am truly so uncomfortable with.

And then I get to the bottom of it:

While I have never been a fan of tattoos, at this very moment I am most bothered by the fact that she may be getting ink and needles at the bottom of her spine, a place I believe to be energetically sensitive.

I call again and ask to talk with her.

I tell her that I would like her to consider having her tattoo placed somewhere else. I explain why. I tell her my beliefs and make them available for her to examine. And I pray that I have done enough good work, in the last 17 years, to have earned her trust.

Silence.

Then laughter.

And she says: “Mom! you are so chill!” (what the heck is “chill”?) “I would never get a real tattoo! I am getting a henna tattoo!”

Oh boy.