On a sentimental whim, you’ll go into his room tonight to tuck him into his covers long after he’s fallen asleep. He may be fifteen, but he’s not so big that you don’t tear up a little when you see him sprawled on his belly, just like he’s slept since he was a toddler.
When you pull the covers back a bit you’ll see that tattoo. It’s definitely real (you can see that part of it is still scabbed) and it’s definitely racist. Racist enough to get his ass kicked in certain neighborhoods. It’s not often that a father gets to blink his eyes just once and see all the limitations that are suddenly placed in his son’s way, but when you see how high up on his neck the tattoo has been drawn, it’s clear that he can remove “prized civil rights attorney” from his dream resume.
You’ll bail on tucking him in, allowing his covers to slide down his back. Let him catch cold. At least he won’t have to go into school and then come home with a letter from the principal demanding that you come in for another talk. You’ll go back into the living room and sit in your chair and wonder what the hell it was that you did wrong?
“Was it because I spent most of his childhood in prison after being charged with a racially motivated hate crime that involved ‘curbing?’” you’ll wonder to yourself. You’ll think about it a little longer before concluding that any mistakes your son makes are entirely the fault of his mom and what a jerkface she was before she joined the Church of Christ.
Happy Your Son Just Got His First Tattoo, And It’s Really Racist Day!