Recently, I embarked on an adventure, one that I never thought I would have the courage to do nor the opportunity. It may seem trivial, even commonplace, but for me it was significant, frightening, and exciting. I got my first tattoo!
This is not common tattoo, it has a very personal and deep meaning behind it and one that I will share with you. Since I was a young girl living in Guyana, my father was always my hero. The one person in my life that was a rock, dependable, kind, loving. He was also an avid sportsman and, in his younger years, an active boxer.
As a young girl I would watch him practice “shadow boxing” and marvel at how fluid he was, how fast. As a married woman with children of my own I would still watch him, much older, frailer than the young man I remembered but still erupting with vigor and enthusiasm as he practiced shadow boxing in the basement of our Winnipeg home. Years may have caught up with him but he still, in my eyes, was a tower of grace and power.
After my father passed away from cancer, I no longer had the opportunity to watch those practice sessions or sit with him and watch pay-per-view boxing matches. Those televised matches were a small escape for me, and I am sure for him. For me I watched the spark in his eyes, the joy in his voice as he commented on and cheered for his favorites. It was, for both of us, a chance for him to return to his youth, to smell the sweat of the ring, to soak up a part of his life I had been too young to see or appreciate. It connected us in a way no others had, I his little girl – no matter the age -and he my hero. And then the dream happened.
“Since I was a young girl living in Guyana, my father was always my hero.”
It was a night like any other night, nothing special to make me think no more or less about my father than any other day. I went to bed and dreamt I was back in my old house, back in my old life. The house was empty but for the sound of someone huffing and puffing as if they were exercising. I knew immediately to head to the basement. There he was, my Dad, my hero, shadow boxing. I made no noise for fear he would disappear and just watched as he boxed. Then across the room a dove flew between us, carrying – of all things – boxing gloves tightly clenched in its talons. I watched it as it flew by and turned back to see my father smiling at me and simply say “Lolita” and I woke.
I knew from that very minute that I awoke that my father was telling me something, so I quickly jotted down what I remembered of the dove and set my mind to taking that image and carrying it with me my whole life in memory of my Dad. With a little research, a little more courage, a helping hand to hold through the procedure I dove in head first and got my first tattoo done.
After much looking around I selected Rebel Waltz Tattoo with Bram as my artist. He took a simple concept and a rough drawing and turned it into a perfect homage to my hero. I love it, I hope you love it too.
memoriesoflolita 