A little over a year ago I wrote a “fictional” account of getting a matching tattoo with my 16-year-old granddaughter, Sophie. Tattoo Trauma | roughwighting
As much as we wanted to make our action non-fictionable, in our state no tattooing is allowed for anyone under 18.
But we had plans.
After intense research, we found a reputable tattoo parlor (are they still called “parlors”?) in a little New England town where every building is brick and at least 100 years old.
After much persuading and cajoling on our part to the tattooist (who made her well-earned living creating imaginative tattoos on arms and legs and backs and…. imaginative places), we convinced her to take us at the end of day on Sophie’s 18th summer birthday for just a tiny tattoo on our ankles. 
I felt a bit nostalgic as we drove the 35 minutes for this special bonding experience. I was present minutes after Sophie’s birth, at the time worried about being a good grandmother, never guessing this shared adventure 18 years later.
Neither of us had ever desired a tattoo. Neither of us like needles … or pain. But both of us desired a tiny, shared memory seared into our skin, forever. Months earlier we had chosen a butterfly with wings half opened, ready for takeoff, but always connected to “home.”
As we entered the small narrow parlor situated in one of those old brick buildings, we noticed the hanging plants, the cheery flowered wallpaper, and the big sign that stated: DON’T RUSH ME. 
The tattoo artist, a lovely 40-something woman with long wavy hair and a crooked smile, showed us the small design she created from the butterfly drawings we’d e-mailed her. It was perfect.
My granddaughter’s voice quivered when she answered the tattooist’s next question: “I’ll go first.” Then Sophie turned to me as she sat in the dentist-like chair, “Madre, will you hold my hand?”
I was delighted. But in the 20 minutes it took to etch the tiny butterfly tattoo, I thought the newly minted 18-year-old would crush every bone in my hand as Sophie squeezed, eyes shut, whimpering.
The tattooist stopped every few minutes, and each time Sophie assured her: “I’m fine. It’s not that bad. I’m fine.”
Her tattoo was adorable. Just what we wanted. Then it was my turn. “Do you want me to hold your hand, Madre?”
I demurred, holding my thoughts that after childbirth and nose cancer surgery, this would be a snap.
I was right.
We left the parlor, wearing smiles as fluttery as our butterfly tattoos, stopping for ice cream cones, sitting in an outside café table, chattering about nothing … and everything.
Matched for life.

Oh my goodness…that first post on this topic was more than a year ago, Pam? How is THAT possible?
Thank you for taking us along, photos and play-by-play. What a bonding and beautifying moment for you and sweet Sophie…with “smiles as fluttery as our butterfly tattoos”. Hugs, hugs, hugs! 💝
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So hard to believe it was more than a year ago but most people had asked me to follow up when it happened for real so here it is! Thanks for being my first commenter! 🤓
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I love every bit! Xo! 😘
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💞
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How lovely, Pamela
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Better than expected, John. Which is always wonderful when that happens. 💗
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It is. 😊
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I love it!! What a neat thing to do with her. My daughter has wanted to get matching tattoos for a long time. I got one 2 years ago on my arm and I love it. She wants one like mine but with my handwriting. She has chickened out twice 😄 So we’ll see. Mine says “And this too shall pass” encased in a rose. The words are the stem. My artist and I designed it. The rose is for my dad who passed in 2022. 🌹
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Hi Kim! Your Rose and saying are absolutely beautiful. Tattoos have a bad rap but they can mean so much for some people. So great to see you here. Thank you!
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I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. Life be lifing… as my daughter would say.
It took me a very long time to come up with what I wanted to do. Tattoos are forever so I wanted to make sure it was something I could live with. I got temporary tattoos and wore them for a couple of weeks to make sure 😄 The pain was nothing like I thought it would be. Mine is inside my left arm.
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Life is living/ I think I will borrow that from your daughter. 🥰
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That is very cool!
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Who knew I could be a cool grandmother? 😏
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We all did!
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Brava to you and Sydney! The tattoo artist did a great job.
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She did!!
Thanks, Liz. 🦋
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You’re welcome, Pam.
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My son wanted a tattoo when he was in high school. I told him that he’d have to wait until he was on his own!! He went off to college and when he came home he had his tattoo. It was on the inside of his arm. It was a Bible saying and the date of my liver tranpslant – 8-9-96!! I still was upset but I guess it was his way of honoring me! I won’t be getting one myself. It will be 30 years this Sept. 8th. How is that possible???You’re braver than me.
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Well done, Grandmere! You and your beautiful granddaughter, Sophie, will always cherish this awesome experience. The love you both share is such an unbreakable bond and the dainty tattoos are perfect. . . .
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this so wonderful, and a special bond for life
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For me, your fascinating story pivots on this: “Madre, will you hold my hand?”
Sophie and her Grandmere are bonded for life now. The story and the dialogue are non-fictional. Right?? ((( )))
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Ah, I remember reading your story before and assumed it was true. I think you’re now in the running for “coolest grandma ever”.
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