Dad Daze: Runaway Jillian knows how to make a permanent impression

I’ve never voted down the line since I’m liberal on some issues and conservative on others. An example of the latter is my take on augmentation. Aside from my daughters having pierced ears and my eldest, Jillian, who sports a nose ring, my children aren’t all that different from how they were upon arrival.

I’ve always been thankful there have been no piercings of note, tattoos or even hair alterations. Maybe it’s the impact of my parents or how many friends have felt, but I always hoped my children wouldn’t mar their skin with ink.

It sounds square since tattoos are ubiquitous, particularly in Spokane, but I have my reasons for skin purity. Most of my pals regret their tattoos. No one has been more remorseful than my old friend Nake, who tattooed the nickname I gave him on the fingers of his right hand.

“There was no better first impression than when I shook an interviewer’s hand when I was looking for a job,” Nake cracked. “Having a tattoo Ozzy Osbourne-style works for Ozzy, but not for everyone.”

Aside from the permanence factor, the fact that tattoos are everywhere makes them less appealing for me. I’ve always expressed to my children the significance of not being sheep.

Well, the Friday of the prior week, I received a shocking text from Jillian with a photo of her first tattoo, the Runaway Bunny from the children’s classic “The Runaway Bunny” by Margaret Wise Brown, on her right bicep, as well as the shot of the tattoo parlor she visited.

Jillian had discussed visiting a tattoo parlor for more than a year. When she expressed how serious she was about the ink job, I suggested that she place the bunny with wings on her shoulder. However, she changed her mind about the tattoo, and I forgot about it until I received her jarring photo.

At least the tattoo is meaningful. “Runaway Bunny has always been so significant to me,” Jillian said. “The message about how the bunny will always be able to run home if they’re ever in trouble. That’s how I feel about you. If anything ever goes wrong in my life, it’s comforting to know that I can come running home to you.

“The person who did the tattoo loves ‘Runaway Bunny,’ too.” Just as I was becoming somewhat comfortable with the design covering my daughter’s many freckles, which will never see the light of day again, my son Eddie dropped an ink-loaded bomb on me.

“Jillian is planning on a sleeve of tattoos, and she is going to have some quotes on her body.” I’m glad that I was sitting down. Quotes? You mean words beyond when kids are human cheat sheets courtesy of a pen?

“C’mon, she has a cool job, and she’s young but old enough at 23 to make her own choices, and well, that’s life, her life,” Eddie said. “I don’t understand it,” I said. “It’s just so permanent. This has to be an April Fools’ joke.”

Every day, I would take some time to stare at Jillian’s new adornment, and I realized that she’s a grownup. I had a long run without anything coloring my children’s collective blank canvas, and I have to be a bit more hip or at least accepting. Maybe I should shock the kids and get a tattoo – but of what?

Having a needle driving into my arm sounds about as pleasant as the act of barbarism on my nether region, which I avoided and hence four children. Forget about myself; I’m not getting a tattoo. I’m not a walking billboard. But Jillian’s work looked cooler the more I focused on it.

I think I can live with the sleeve as long as it’s arty, but words just never look good to me on a body. Eddie’s friend Nathan had some lyrics from Pearl Jam’s “Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town” tattooed on his rib. “Hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away.”

“It’s a song my mother loves,” Nathan explained after he and Eddie graduated from high school. Maybe I can talk her out of song lyrics or any words in general. Then I kind of started digging Jillian’s tattoo. I read her “Runaway Bunny.” I’m part of the reason she has the bunny on her arm. I’m fine with her decision.

And then I was hit with a revelation. “April Fools’,” Jillian said nearly a week after punking me. “How could you have done such a thing?” I asked. “First off, how did you get the fake tattoo on your right arm?” “You know I’m left-handed, so I just drew it on my arm.”

But how dare you pull off something so, so cool, I asked. “I have to give you credit.” “First off, I’m the prankster of the family,” Jillian said. It’s not surprising since Jillian has the finest sense of humor of my four children.

“And you’ve done far worse to me,” Jillian said. “Remember when you told me, ‘Soccer isn’t a sport, it’s an activity?’ I would go to school when I was in third grade, and I would quote what you said. ‘Soccer isn’t a real sport because there are spots on the ball. Soccer is the Venus de Milo of sports.’

“You never told me that you were joking. Your April Fools’ Day jokes could happen on any day, and you would never tell me that you were joking. I had to figure it out on my own, so this is nothing compared to what you’ve done to me.”

I thought I told Jillian that I was just joking about soccer. “No, you deserve this,” Jillian said. Maybe I do, and maybe I need to be more open-minded since if my children are down with body art, perhaps I should be, as well. It’s their bodies and lives. Carry on, Jillian!