Family Values

As I was growing up, I was fed the idea of family values. Stick together. Blood is thicker than water. Parents. Siblings. Cousins. Aunts. Uncles. Grandparents. There were supposed to be no boundaries to who was accepted into the family. No such thing as outsiders. Steps and halves weren't mentioned.

A good gust of wind has blown that house of cards all over the lawn. It makes me sad to think that the people who constantly preached to me about sticking together are the very same people who have the ability to shun their own family. They can shut out and gossip about family members because they don't do what is expected of them. They make life choices that don't do any harm to anyone, but simply don't coincide with someone else's definition of right and wrong.

I guess I'm no different because I've shut out those doing the shutting out. I've feared being shut out for not being who my family wants me to be. I've learned self acceptance and self sufficiency, but not because it was taught in my family values lessons. I learned it out of self preservation. Family approval would be great, but it's never been necessary for me to move forward with my life. I'll continue to be who I need to be for myself. If it's not your way, move over because I'll run you down to get you out of my way.

You Can't Take These

I've been thinking a lot about my tattoos lately. Recently I decided I wanted the backs of my hands done. My initial reaction to myself was, "Oh my God, you can't do that, people will think you're a fruit."

Uh.  What!?

I can do whatever I want. Simply because *I* said so. So the decision has been made. I'll be doing my hands with two beautiful designs that mean something to me.

Then I got to thinking about how best to explain my tattoos to others. Believe it or not, I get asked. I think it's strange because I'd NEVER dream of walking up to someone and saying, "What the hell were you thinking with that haircut!?"

While chit chatting with a client today, it came to me. These tattoos are my story. They are my photographs. They are my memories. I choose them. I'm in control of them. No one can go through this diary without my permission, and even then, they'll only get the excerpts I choose. No one can take them from me. No one can twist them and make them something they're not, no matter what insults or queer looks are thrown my way.

I'm bold enough to wear my story on the outside for all to see, while many of you live in your sick secret-infested lies. That might work for you, but it'll never be me.