Unfiltered Story #18637

~I have been around people who talk “different”-to quote my one old teacher, my whole life. I also am a mutt, with my ancestors coming from all over, and when I talk, it sometimes shows-i.e. Me mum instead of my mom, and some other things, which you’ll see. People have tried correcting me on it, but no one’s succeeded, so it’s always there. Please keep this warning in mind as you read.~

All my life, I’ve known that, when I could, I would get tattoos. I swore that all would have an important meaning to me to a friend who died when I was younger, a majority of them would be for family. Exactly two weeks after my 16th birthday, my Grandda died. He had been sick for a while, and, after five years, knew his time was coming to an end. He knew of my plans, and while he never cared for tattoos, he would be proud of me for the fact that I stuck to my dream. January of 2016, that dream became a reality, with the first one being dedicated to him, a guitar with his initials on the body, under the bridge. Like him, my grandmum doesn’t care for tattoos, so at first was not very big on the idea. After I got it, she didn’t really say anything about it.

At the end of March this year, me Mum, Da, and I went to visit her, arriving when her help was still there, and getting to meet her for the first time. We were talking, and me Gran suddenly says to me,”Show her your tattoo, hon”. So, keeping my shock hidden, I crouched down so that she could see the top of my spine, where I have it. Gran then says,”this is what I was telling you about. She got this for her Grandpa; those are his initials.”

It meant a lot to me to know that Gran was telling people of it, even sounding proud of me, even though she doesn’t like tattoos. She might be a crazy woman-Mum, and is daughters inheriting it-but I adore her.