If I were still on the faculty at the community college in Seattle, I would volunteer to sit on the planning committee. This would be defying past practices because old-timers usually urge younger, more energetic and idealistic teachers to take on committee work. The rest of us tired, tenured old fogies just want spend our precious time teaching classes, chewing the fat with students and pondering possibilities. So why am I volunteering to sit on the planning committee? I’ll get to that in a minute.
But in order to get there, I need to take a flying leap to the topic of tattoos, because nowadays, I can’t look anywhere without seeing them everywhere. Up the arm, down the leg, around the wrist, over the shoulder, on the neck, behind, above, beneath, in front of, next to … this sounds like one of my riveting lessons in prepositions.
When I was young, the only person with a tattoo was Popeye the Sailor Man, a cartoon character. Then, while reading “Moby Dick” in high school, I learned about Queequeg, a chieftain’s son and tattooed seafarer of South Sea origins. At least that part isn’t fiction, because tattooing is a ritual with ancestral connections on many Pacific Islands. Early non-Polynesian sailors admired the artwork which accounts for tats showing up on the likes of Popeye.
By the time I was growing up in Hilo, tattoo arts had practically disappeared because of meddling missionaries who banned island traditions. So I knew no one with a tat, which is different from today, where it seems that everyone has one or two or 20.
I admire the ones that have mana and meaning, worn by islanders with pride, but am confused by others using ink as body decor. When I watch a mainland TV cooking show, I have to wonder why the tat on the chef’s arm is a hooded cobra and not a carrot. Or I see a reality show host in the Midwest who’s tattooed all over her entire chest, in technicolor no less! The design is pretty but isn’t it like wearing the same blouse day after day? And how about those lovebirds who get matching tattoos on their ring finger instead of gold bands? I say stick with the gold.
Which brings me back to sitting on the community college planning committee. As we ponder future trends and brainstorm new programs to develop, I will propose a tattoo removal program. With all the ink spilled nowadays, I think there is a future in this training.
Given the profusion of tattoos on everybody and his sister, someone will have to come to the rescue when the fad passes and the currently tattooed grow older. That perky rose on her boob may be attractive today, but I can assure you that like all flowers, it will droop and fade. The chef’s hooded cobra will look even scarier when muscle turns to flab and the menacing snake becomes the Grim Reaper. And judging from statistics, breaking up is not so hard to do these days, but I’ll bet the undoing of tattooed wedding bands is.
So I will propose that the college develop a tattoo-removal program as part of cosmetology where students learn skills in skin care. Like the law of gravity where what goes up must come down, there ought to be another law applied to the overly tattooed that says what goes on must come off.
Because, frankly, when I see tats used as decoration on body parts of non-Pacific people, I just want to poke my eyes out.
Rochelle delaCruz was born in Hilo, graduated from Hilo High School, then left to go to college. After teaching for 30 years in Seattle, Wash., she retired and returned home to Hawaii. She welcomes your comments at rainysideview@gmail.com. Her column appears every other Monday.