Momento Mori by Briton Underwood

Man did I feel cool as I wore a shirt that didn't exactly fit me and my jeans extra baggy. Oops, I would yawn, arms stretched high, and flash off glimpses of my hips. What? Oh yeah I have tattoos! No, my parents don't know!

Oh to be a kid.

I felt cool as hell! Sixteen with hip tattoos! I remember getting them still.

As I laid there letting some girl I had only just met use a lighter she stole from her mom to "sanitize" her tattoo equipment- a sewing needle. She had just got this "India Ink" and was giving out tattoos to people.

I never claimed to be a smart kid. Sure, I was book smart and could maintain halfway decent grades, but common sense? Please. I wanted to be "cool and edgy" not "thoughtful and calculating". So here I was, laying on some strange girls floor. Letting her stab my hips with a sewing needle and some black substance she picked up at an arts and craft store. I wasn't even cool about it. A stream of swears and "please tell me your done!" Escaped my mouth as I continuously focused on trying not to punch this girl in the head who was stabbing me with a needle. My masculinity was at an all time high when next my girlfriend at the time laid down and got the same spots stabbed at with eyes closed and calm breathing, only occasionally clinching my hand as if to say "sure, this hurts yeah".

"Momento Mori"

That's what one hipbone says. Momento Mori, is the misspelled version of "Memento Mori", Latin for "Remember that you have to die." How cool and edgy is that? Some misspelled Latin! I didn't care. I showed it off. No one really could make out what it said anyways because I would quickly flash it, like I was quickly opening a briefcase filled with cash and showing it to prove its full. No time to examine whether there is something wrong with these bills, just know they are real.

Together both my hips read "Live Love" and "Momento Mori". Live love, remember that you have to die. If only when I got that I could say I knew who I was and wasn't trying to come up with some clever ode to some emo pop punk band. Life at sixteen is so much about fitting in or doing something cool. My family wasn't stupid enough to let me get a flash tattoo in high school like some of the other parents. During my junior year tattoos that said "family" or tattoos of butterflies began to pop up on biceps and lower backs. I just wanted to be a part of that crowd, but I also wanted to stand apart. Remember "cool and edgy"?

What a stupid reason for tattoos. Being young and insecure. Ugly marks made by craft store ink and a sewing needle.

I love them.

I'll never regret them.

I'll always cherish the memories of a stupid boy trying to fit in. Remember being a kid trying to make it through the social obstacle course of high school. Those ugly marks are beautiful to me. They bring back waves of nostalgia. From awkward first loves to false feelings of depth every teen feels. I have the memories etched on my hips, they beautifully fit a mosaic of a person trying to find themselves and catalogue the journey along the way. They have been joined by dogs, a sun, a Greek symbol, a holy deer, a fish and crab, the initial of my true love and the names of the people who make me truly live love and remember that I won't be around forever. Each piece belongs, even the ones made on a floor with a sewing needle in high school.

Briton Underwood- Briton’s popular blog, “Punk Rock Papa: Adventures In Fatherhood” is a hilarious yet heartfelt take on being a young father. He is a self- proclaimed hipster and father to two Punk Rock toddler twins and an up-and-coming baby Punk. Briton believes that Jesus loves all of His children, even the ones with Mohawks. He reigns over the blogging group, the “Brainstorm Bunker, a fast-growing blogging group who shares ideas and laughter with each other every day. Briton’s most prized possession is his pair of green skinny jeans. Follow him here: http://punkrockpapa.wordpress.com/

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