• Batshit insane woman describes, in depth, how her Sons tattoo 'ruins their relationship'
    110 replies, posted
[url]http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2012/aug/11/devastated-by-my-sons-tattoo?fb=native&CMP=FBCNETTXT9038[/url] [quote=The Guardian]Put out the bunting, crack open the beers, stand there in the kitchen smiling from ear to ear, because he's home – our student son is home and the family is together again. And after supper, after the washing up is done, the others – his younger siblings – drift off to watch television, and he says: "Would you like to see my tattoo?" I say, "You're joking." He says, "No, I'm not." But still I wait. Any minute he's going to laugh and say, "You should see your faces" because this has been a running joke for years, this idea of getting a tattoo – the hard man act, iron muscles, shaved head, Jason Statham, Ross Kemp. He's a clever boy. Maybe during his school years he thought a tattoo would balance the geeky glory of academic achievement. His father says, "Where?" "On my arm," he says, and touches his bicep through his shirt. His lovely shoulder. In the silence, he says, "I didn't think you'd be this upset." After a while, he says, "It wasn't just a drunken whim. I thought about it. I went to a professional. It cost £150." £150? I think, briefly, of all the things I could buy with £150. "It's just a tattoo," he says, when the silence goes on so long that we have nearly fallen over the edge of it into a pit of black nothingness. "It's not as if I came home and said I'd got someone pregnant." It seems to me, unhinged by shock, that this might have been the better option. His father asks, "Does it hurt?" "Yes," I say, cutting across this male bonding. "It does. Very much." For three days, I can't speak to my son. I can hardly bear to look at him. I decide this is rational. The last thing we need, I think, is an explosion of white-hot words that everyone carries around for the rest of their lives, engraved on their hearts. In any case, I'm not even sure what it is I want to say. In my mind's eye I stand there, a bitter old woman with pursed lips wringing my black-gloved hands. He's done the one thing that I've said for years, please don't do this. It would really upset me if you did this. And now it's happened. So there's nothing left to say. I know you can't control what your children do. Why would you want to, anyway? If you controlled what they did, you'd just pass on your own rubbish tip of imperfections. You hope the next generation will be better, stronger, more generous. I know all you can do as a parent is to pack their bags and wave as you watch them go. So I cry instead. I have a lump in my throat that stops me from eating. I feel as if someone has died. I keep thinking of his skin, his precious skin, inked like a pig carcass. My neighbour says, "There's a lot of it about. So many teenagers are doing it." I stare at pictures of David Beckham with his flowery sleeves, Angelina Jolie all veins and scrawls. Tattoos are everywhere. They seem no more alternative than piercings these days. But I still don't understand. Sam Cam with her smudgy dolphin, the heavily tattooed at Royal Ascot – these people are role models? "My niece had doves tattooed on her breasts," says a friend, "And her father said, you wait, in a few years' time they'll be vultures." It's the permanence that makes me weep. As if the Joker had made face paints from acid. Your youthful passion for ever on display, like a CD of the Smiths stapled to your forehead. The British Association of Dermatologists recently surveyed just under 600 patients with visible tattoos. Nearly half of them had been inked between the ages of 18 and 25, and nearly a third of them regretted it. I look up laser removal. Which is a possibility, I think miserably, that only works if you want a tattoo removed. And I'm not in charge here. My son is. My husband asks, "Have you seen it yet?" I shake my head. Like a child, I am hoping that if I keep my eyes tightly shut the whole thing will disappear. "It's his body," he says gently. "His choice." "But what if he wants to be a lawyer?" "A lawyer?" "Or an accountant." "He'll be wearing a suit. No one will ever know. And he doesn't want to be a lawyer. Or an accountant." I know. I know. I meet a colleague for lunch. "He knew how much it would hurt me," I say, tears running down my face. "For years I've said, don't do it. It's there for ever, even after you've changed your mind about who you are and what you want to look like. You're branded, like meat. It can damage your work prospects. It can turn people against you before you've even opened your mouth." She says, "Tell him how you feel." But I can't. For a start, I know I'm being completely unreasonable. This level of grief is absurd. He's not dying, he hasn't killed anyone, he hasn't volunteered to fight on behalf of a military dictatorship. But I feel as though a knife is twisting in my guts. I get angry with myself. This is nothing but snobbery, I think – latent anxiety about the trappings of class. As if my son had deliberately turned his back on a light Victoria sponge and stuffed his face with cheap doughnuts. I am aware, too, that I associate tattoos on men with aggression, the kind of arrogant swagger that goes with vest tops, dogs on chains, broken beer glasses. Is this what other women feel? Or perhaps, I think, with an uncomfortable lurch of realisation, just what older women feel. I stand, a lone tyrannosaurus, bellowing at a world I don't understand. Tattoos used to be the preserve of criminals and toffs. And sailors. In the 1850s, the corpses of seamen washed up on the coast of north Cornwall were "strangely decorated" with blue, according to Robert Hawker, the vicar of Morwenstow – initials, or drawings of anchors, flowers or religious symbols ("Our blessed Saviour on His Cross, with on the one hand His mother, and on the other St John the Evangelist"). "It is their object and intent, when they assume these signs," says Hawker, "to secure identity for their bodies if their lives are lost at sea." Tattoos, then, were intensely practical, like brightly coloured smit marks on sheep. Perhaps even then this was a fashion statement, a badge of belonging. Or just what you did after too much rum. Later, the aristocracy flirted with body art. According to the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich (they know a lot about tattoos), Edward VII had a Jerusalem cross on his arm while both his sons, the Duke of Clarence and the Duke of York (later George V), had dragon tattoos. Lady Randolph Churchill, Winston's mum, had a snake on her wrist. But you can do what you like if you're rich. On day three, still in a fog of misery, I say to him, "Shall we talk?" We sit down with cups of coffee. I open my mouth to speak and end up crying instead. I say, "You couldn't have done anything to hurt me more." He is cool and detached. He says, "I think you need to re-examine your prejudices." I think, but I have! I've done nothing else for three days! But I don't say that because we aren't really talking to each other. These are rehearsed lines, clever insults flung across the dispatch box. (This is what comes of not exploding in anger in the heat of the moment.) I say, "Why couldn't you have waited until you'd left home? Why now when you're living here half the year?" "It's something I've been thinking about for a long time. There didn't seem any reason to wait." Which makes it worse. "I'm an adult," he says. "I paid for it with my own money. Money I earned." But we're supporting you as well, I think. As far as I know, you don't have separate bank accounts for your various income streams. So who knows? Maybe we paid for it. "If you don't want to see it, that's fine," he says. "When I'm at home, I'll cover it up. Your house, your rules." In my head, I think, I thought it was your house, too. He says, "I'm upset that you're upset. But I'm not going to apologise." "I don't want you to apologise," I say. (A lie. Grovelling self-abasement might help.) He says, "I'm still the same person." I look at him, sitting there, my 21-year-old son. I feel I'm being interviewed for a job I don't even want. I say, "But you're not. You're different. I will never look at you in the same way again. It's a visceral feeling. Maybe because I'm your mother. All those years of looking after your body – taking you to the dentist and making you drink milk and worrying about green leafy vegetables and sunscreen and cancer from mobile phones. And then you let some stranger inject ink under your skin. To me, it seems like self-mutilation. If you'd lost your arm in a car accident, I would have understood. I would have done everything to make you feel better. But this – this is desecration. And I hate it." We look at each other. There seems nothing left to say. Over the next few days, my son – always covered up – talks to me as if the row had never happened. I talk to him, too, but warily. Because I'm no longer sure I know him. And this is when I realise that all my endless self-examination was completely pointless. What I think, or don't think, about tattoos is irrelevant. Because this is the point. Tattoos are fashionable. They may even be beautiful. (Just because I hate them doesn't mean I'm right.) But by deciding to have a tattoo, my son took a meat cleaver to my apron strings. He may not have wanted to hurt me. I hope he didn't. But my feelings, as he made his decision, were completely unimportant. The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; pack up the moon and dismantle the sun. I am redundant. And that's a legitimate cause for grief, I think.[/quote] Read this article in the Guardian, thought it was completely fucking ridiculous. She, and people like her are what's wrong with the world, not tattoos, religion, race, colour or anything else. People so steadfastly stuck to their ignorant and moronic views that they think differences of opinion, differences of religion, hell, differences of physical appearance, means that someone has to be regarded differently.. perhaps even greeted with hostility, because of choices they did (or in some cases didn't) make.
[quote]So I cry instead. I have a lump in my throat that stops me from eating. I feel as if someone has died. I keep thinking of his skin, his precious skin, inked like a pig carcass.[/quote] Wow okay, calm down
The Guardian is a decent newspaper but the people that write the non-news articles are generally morons. Like there was one woman complaining about how there was too much Shakespeare at the International Shakespeare Festival (apparently people from other cultures performing Shakespeare is patriarchal neo-colonialism or something).
Well, I can hardly blame her. She's his mother, so isn't it natural for her to be worried about her son having his skin inked? Edited: But I do agree this is a tad over-dramatic.
fuck having a mum like this
[QUOTE=Boaraes;37196394]Well, I can hardly blame her. She's his mother, so isn't it natural for her to be worried about her son having his skin inked?[/QUOTE] I think this goes beyond simply being worried.
Her opinions are completely ridiculous. OP, you make a great point: throughout the article, she is obviously cognizant of how absolutely unfounded her emotions are, and how she's just "a lone tyrannosaurus, bellowing at a world I don't understand", yet she continues to be prejudiced against her son. He seems a completely reasonable person, as does the father, and I can't even fathom why she believed publishing this article would be a good idea.
This person has my pity. She clearly has issues.
With the way she drones on, you'd think her husband had cheated on her or something.
This is hilariously melodramatic. [QUOTE] I stand, a lone tyrannosaurus, bellowing at a world I don't understand. [/QUOTE] I fucking lost it when I read that.
It's a bit strange reading this, since my mother has tonnes of ink and keeps telling me I should go have my first tattoo done. [sp]BUT I'M NOT GONNA 'CAUSE I'M A REBEL WOAAAAAH!!![/sp]
There are mothers right now being told their sons were killed halfway across the world and they will never see them again, and she's worried about what's probably a tiny tattoo on his arm, arguably the most "normal" place for what is now a totally acceptable and generally unoffensive body modification. She needs to get bent.
[quote]I am redundant. And that's a legitimate cause for grief, I think.[/quote] Yes, you're redundant. No, it's not a legitimate cause for grief because that's what happens to every parent and you should have known this when you had him. Parents like this want to see their kids as babies forever, when obviously that isn't healthy for anyone. Kids grow up. It's what they do. It's what they're for. And parents need to as well: Every parent has to deal with their kids becoming their own person and leaving home and doing what they want, and she's just doing a terrible job of it.
[QUOTE=SCopE5000;37196339] She, and people like her are what's wrong with the world, not tattoos, religion, race, colour or anything else. People so steadfastly stuck to their ignorant and moronic views that they think differences of opinion, differences of religion, hell, differences of physical appearance, means that someone has to be regarded differently.. perhaps even greeted with hostility, because of choices they did (or in some cases didn't) make.[/QUOTE] She does point out that she's being unreasonable, only thing wrong with her is that she's overreacting over tattoos which she associates with criminals. I wouldn't go so far to say that she's "batshit insane". Merely melodramatic.
Tattoos, how barbaric. The alteration of your natural appearance is simply unforgivable! Now excuse me, I'm late for my botox injection and I need to pick up more skin cream.
This is a joke. Tattoos aren't really [I]permanent[/I]. Removing them leaves a scar. But you can get scar from anything.
Who the hell gets so emotionally worked up about a tattoo? It's not even a swastika on the forehead, it's somewhere where nobody'll actually notice unless he points it out and rolls up his sleeves.
[QUOTE=sirdownloadsalot;37196469]It's a bit strange reading this, since my other has tonnes of ink and keeps telling me I should go have my first tattoo done. [sp]BUT I'M NOT GONNA 'CAUSE I'M A REBEL WOAAAAAH!!![/sp][/QUOTE] my mother keeps going "i want a tattoo, tattoos are cool, what tattoo do you think i should get" damnit woman, i'm trying to eat my wheaties
Hey dude, nice tattoo, when did you get it? Oh, a few weeks ago. Nice, how did your parents react to it though? dunno, mom went batshit insane again.
LIKE A PIG'S CARCASS FOR CHRISSAKE /caps
It's the sons life to be frank. He can choose what he wants to do with his body but the mother definitely seems to be over reacting. It's just ink and a picture. If she seems to be stereotyping that people with tattoos are all thugs well I think she needs to be more open minded and less selfish.
[QUOTE=Mr. Scorpio;37196511]my mother keeps going "i want a tattoo, tattoos are cool, what tattoo do you think i should get" damnit woman, i'm trying to eat my wheaties[/QUOTE] My mum already has them and wants me to get some. I've been tempted, but settling on something good is the main thing. I'd want something I won't regret.
This person sounds like she needs a psychiatrist.
People are fucking goofy
[quote]And this is when I realise that all my endless self-examination was completely pointless. What I think, or don't think, about tattoos is irrelevant. Because this is the point. Tattoos are fashionable. They may even be beautiful. (Just because I hate them doesn't mean I'm right.) But by deciding to have a tattoo, my son took a meat cleaver to my apron strings. He may not have wanted to hurt me. I hope he didn't. But my feelings, as he made his decision, were completely unimportant. The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; pack up the moon and dismantle the sun. I am redundant. And that's a legitimate cause for grief, I think.[/quote] okay im sorry but 1. that's not what redundant means 2.[media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gmmKzEKYvdM[/media]
work prospects work prospects work prospects overly-emotional family tiny arm tattoo who gives a fuck what you have inked onto you at the end of the day
God damn, she'd flip shit if I was her kid. As long it's not a ridiculously abhorrent tattoo there's nothing wrong with it. Sounds like a snob.
[QUOTE=Bobie;37196570]work prospects work prospects work prospects overly-emotional family tiny arm tattoo who gives a fuck what you have inked onto you at the end of the day[/QUOTE] Employers. Be able to cover it or you are screwed.
I've gone through this sort of shit for much less, had someone in my family who wasn't happy with me being a blacksmith instead of an accountant or a lawyer or something and decided to throw a fit and attack me and everyone else who didn't agree with her. There are some people who fail to truly realize they don't own anyone.
She needs to get a grip [QUOTE=Negrul1;37196392]The Guardian is a decent newspaper but the people that write the non-news articles are generally morons. Like there was one woman complaining about how there was too much Shakespeare at the International Shakespeare Festival (apparently people from other cultures performing Shakespeare is patriarchal neo-colonialism or something).[/QUOTE] You can tell from the comments on the article that this is extreme and unusual even for the guardian "this is so batshit mental that I'm having problems believing that it's factual rather than a complete work of fiction" [url]http://www.guardian.co.uk/discussion/comment-permalink/17622418[/url]
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