Last Sunday was my 2nd Father’s Day after becoming a dad. I didn’t realize what day it was until a few days before, so I had to reschedule all of my tattoo appointments last minute. I took my daughter Rosalie to my mom’s house in LaGrange, GA, and we grilled out and hung out by their pool. Rosalie is just one and a half years old, but she loves the pool so much! It’s really sweet. 

    We had an awesome day, but as evening came I realized I had forgotten something. I was so swept up in spending Father’s Day with my daughter that I had forgotten about my own dad. Fortunately my dad is at least as forgetful as I am. We forget anniversaries and birthdays, including each others. We would forget Christmas if it weren’t for the impact the holiday season has on the tattoo business.

    16 years ago my dad not only encouraged, but also stubbornly insisted that I start working at his tattoo shop. I was 15 years old and had no interest in any job at all, let alone one that involved spending time with my grumpy biker dad who chain smoked cigarettes (inside the shop, of course) and bitched nonstop about how fucked up the world is. I had already quit going to high school though and I needed to do something. My shitty punk rock band didn’t make any money and my dad wasn’t about to start paying me unless I worked for it. I began learning how to make tattoo needles and trace line drawings. It wasn’t long before I was tattooing my friends and his, and occasionally doing a barbed wire arm band or a tasmanian devil on a random walk-in.

    16 years later I am still doing the only thing I have ever really learned to do. I’ve worked full time to learn the craft and industry that my dad introduced me to. I am forever grateful and thankful to him, though I often forget to tell him. Happy Father’s Day, old man. Don’t ever stop your bitchin’!!