
My grandfather shook his head when he saw my tattoo. I was just about to graduate from high school, and my sister-in-law took me to get this tattoo as a graduation gift. As an adult, I know I should’ve reconsidered this idea. I had to explain a million times that this was not my prom date. My grandfather didn’t really care about the guy in the tattoo though. He had a different issue.
“If you commit a crime, the police will identify you in no time,” he said to me.
Mind you, the extent of my “criminal” life was eating one too many grapes in the grocery store. (OK, fine, there was that 10- day suspension for having a Girl Scout knife, but that was expunged by the time I went to college.)
So my first response to him was, “Did you decide I would live a life of crime?”
He laughed. I shrugged it off. He still used to point this out any time he saw someone else with a tattoo. He’s not exactly wrong. If the tattoo is distinct, it’s not like it wouldn’t come up during a police lineup. But my tattoo was a couple enjoying a toast. My arm doesn’t exactly scream “criminal.”
Still, what he should have told me about being a busybody and doing something I had no business doing was what else I should never bring: a dog. And the apple tree stunt caused me to learn that lesson the hard way.