My dad served in the Navy during the Korean War, and he had one tattoo. It was on his left upper arm, tattooed in green, depicting his beloved horse, Bud Will.
Bud Will was Dad’s racing horse, a cherished companion. Bud had passed away before I was born.
When I was little, Dad would sometimes call out to me, “You want to ride a racehorse?”
“Yes, of course!” I’d respond with a gigantic grin.
Dad would then roll up the sleeve of his white t-shirt to reveal Bud Will. He’d place me on his knee and perform a pretty good imitation of a bugle before a race. If you know, you know. “And they’re off…” Dad would say, bouncing his knee, announcing the advancing positions of each horse, who was on the inside lane, every turn, with me almost falling off in excitement.
Bud Will always won. Every time.
After the race, Dad would put me back on the floor, look me in the eye with forearms as thick as tree trunks, and say, “You better never get a tattoo.”
And I didn’t. And I won’t.
Those memories are precious.
Tattoos are cool. I see guys with with sleeves of intricate designs and they evoke sincere admiration from me; however, I’ve come to the realization that tattoos just aren’t for me, and I promised my dad.
Jewelry, too, doesn’t find its place in my wardrobe. Instead, I opt for silicone bracelets – a guilty pleasure of mine.
Silicone bracelets… you know, the ones with motivational messages on them.
I’ve been sporting them for as long as I can remember. My very first was the yellow “Live Strong” bracelet endorsed by Lance Armstrong before his fall from grace. It’s curious how swiftly people abandoned wearing his bracelets that aimed at supporting cancer research. I guess we showed him. Really?! I still think the bracelets and Lance were cool. Live Strong. Yes, I will. Good message. Great cause. A lesson in hubris.
The other day, I found myself donning four silicone bracelets simultaneously – a personal record I’m inclined not to repeat as it felt like a wee bit of an excessive display.
The inscriptions on the bracelets read:
- “Don’t tell them, show them.”
- “Nothing is Impossible.”
- “Listen. Learn. Connect.”
- “E+R=O”
Indeed, quite a collection, like a sleeve of tattoos concealed beneath my shirt, barely noticeable to others.
Though mostly inconspicuous, these bracelets serve as reminder to myself. They embody principles and values I strive to uphold, rather than serving as a means to proclaim my uniqueness or to convert cynics into motivational gurus.
Once, a friend glanced at my bracelets and remarked, “I’m not into that.”
Curiously, I wondered, “Into what?” Did he mistake my bracelets for symbols of membership in a cult? These silicone bracelets are my tattoos.
Perhaps he presumed they were intended for him. It reminded me of Carly Simon’s song “You’re So Vain,” where the lyrics go, “I’ll bet you think this song is about you.” These bracelets are for me.
I don’t have much fashion sense, and I try not to wear brands of companies with bold logos. However, when it comes to messages that are uplifting or push me, well… I embrace them because I’m into positivity. I’m into advertising positivity to myself.
We need to watch what we say to ourselves. Whether we want to admit it or not, we talk to ourselves more than anyone else talks to us. (Hopefully mostly inside our head, but outside is okay sometimes. Sometimes.) We need to be kind to ourselves and choose our words carefully. We shouldn’t even joke about calling ourselves dumb or worthless because every single advertisement adds up and makes an impact. We choose our thoughts about ourselves and we choose our words. It matters. That’s why I wear silicone tattoos. I am advertising to myself. I advertise to myself about the person I want to become. These bracelets reinforce the mindset I need.
Silicone bracelets are my tattoos.
Bud won every time, and so will I.
Always forward,
Kelly
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