My youth was conflicted.
You might ask: Whose was not?
Fair enough. However, my youth lasted 52 years.
Part of my conflicted youth was that I got tattooed. You might say: Tattoos are “cool.” Lots of folks have them. Actually, tattoos are a relatively modern fad.
Half a century back, only sailors and bad boys got them.
And me — neither sailor nor bad boy.
By the time I was 26, I had six tattoos.
What brings this topic to mind? The city government in Washington, D.C., a bunch of typical, nanny-state Democrats, wants to meddle in the tattoo trade, which is none of its business.
You might ask: And what happened at age 52?
Entheogens happened to me.
Otherwise, pushing 70, I would still be a conflicted youth, and that would be beyond silly.
Back to tattoos: After my second divorce, I went to the VA hospital in Houston, and had six of the seven removed at government expense.
Ain’t socialism sweet?
I kept one on my forearm, a green snake wrapped around a skull, because it makes me intriguing to the ladies.
Looking like a bad boy can be good.