Ink Linked: Our Mother-Daughter Tattoo Journey

The years have mellowed me about tattoos

In 1997 when we moved up the coast to Central California, my daughter started Middle School knowing no one. One day she wore a tee shirt that said Daisy with two daisies on it. The kids started calling her Daisy. The name stuck.

Then in 2000, we moved to Michigan before she started her Sophomore year in high school. It was a challenging time because 9/11 happened 14 months later, the company we moved for went bankrupt, and we struggled…but pulled together and made it through.

She begged us to let her change her name and and get a tattoo. We resisted.

I didn’t much care for tattoos. I always said, “Why would you want to get anything permanently inked on your body? There is nothing I can think of I’d still want on my body when I’m old.”

When it came time for her graduation, I already knew what she wanted.

“Do you want us to pay for your name change? Or would you rather have the tattoo you’ve been wanting?” I asked one day.

Her eyes lit up. “A tattoo!”

She got a daisy tattooed on her upper right shoulder. Later, after more tattoos were added, I often wondered whether it was wise parenting decision.

On Saturday, May 12, 2012, I was sitting in the grass near the baseball field chain link fence in Ferndale’s Harding Park with two friends.

It was the year after Daisy had tucked me under her wing when I came out as a lesbian at 56. Now, I was living in a rental house and had connected with a new circle of friends. One of them had just run the “Celebrate Moms Fun Run 5K.” Both started comparing their tattoos and why they had chosen them. It gave me an idea. I grabbed my phone.

I texted Daisy: It’s Mother’s Day tomorrow. Do you want to get tattoos?

She immediately called me.

“Are you serious?”

I explained after seeing my friend’s tattoos that I could see maybe getting a daisy tattoo on my left shoulder.

“It’s late. I know we can’t get into the place I get mine,” she said.

“Well, do some homework and figure out if there is any place open to take us tomorrow.”

I could tell she was excited when we got off the phone. She confirmed later in the day we had appointments scheduled in Canton.

Daisy drove to the tattoo parlor. On the way, I asked her what kind of tattoo she wanted to get and where, since she already had several.

“I think I want a small heart on my wrist,” she said. “Pull out a piece of paper from the glovebox and draw a heart for me.”

I’m not an artist and drawing hearts, simple as they are, were not my strong suit. I drew a couple.

“I can’t seem to get the right side to look good,” I said.

“Okay, then draw the left.”

I did what she asked.

When we came to a stop, I showed the paper to her. She took the pen from me. She drew the right side of the heart, just as the light turned green.

At the tattoo parlor, I explained to my assigned artist what I wanted and Jes showed her artist the heart we had made together.

Her tattoo went quickly, then she waited until mine was done.

At first when the tattooist did the outline, it didn’t hurt. Once he started filling in the color, I felt a bit of pain. By the time he did the solid yellow middle, the pain was stronger and I couldn’t wait for him to be done.

The daisy is on my upper left shoulder. The heart we both drew is on the inside of Daisy’s left wrist.

I often think about getting another tattoo because I can’t see the daisy I have on my shoulder. I’ve especially come to love tats written in the handwriting of a loved one.

This year Daisy asked me to write “you are my sunshine” several times because she wanted to get a tattoo with my handwriting. The M in the middle of the sunflower is the first letter of her daughter’s name in my writing.

Daisy also left it uncolored so her daughter could paint it with watercolors, what she did when she was young and painted my dad’s face with watercolors. I love it.

Maybe I can find something my parents wrote and get some fresh ink.