I’ve had my lion for over a year now, I believe. It’s one of my favorite tattoos. I mean, look at it. It’s absolutely gorgeous. It also means as much, if not more, to me than all my other tattoos. It comes with two important meanings.
For my Dad, the most important man to me in the world. When I was a kid, my dad, my sisters, and I would play a game we invented called, you guessed it, “Lion”. My dad, the lion, would run around the house chasing us while we screech with laughter. He’d alway catch the slowest one of us and start tickling while we failed to fight him off. To stop him, or ‘kill him’, one of the other two would have to jump on his back (I’m sorry, Daddy). He would then fall to the ground, snoring with…death? To wake him up, because “Lion” is a boring game without the lion, one of us would have to jump over his legs and the book it before he caught us. I was always the one to jump over his legs because I was the youngest and the most expendable.
I do a lot of things for a lot of reasons. One of the most common questions, or judgments, I get is “why?” Why did I choose that field to study in? Why am I friends with that person? Why did I do that to my hair? WHY did I get that piercing? (You know the one)
Why did I get the tattoo?
I promise you, I have reasons. And more than half the time, they aren’t the reasons people think they are. (At least from what I’ve heard. I’m not in everybody’s minds, so I’ll never know for sure) but for the most part, I probably haven’t explicitly told you why I did something, so you don’t know.