So I have a tattoo on my back, between my shoulders. It’s a butterfly with Japanese lettering for the body. In the summer, it’s often visible when I’m wearing tank tops or dresses.
I seriously just scrolled through 200 or more pictures, and not one of them was from the back when my hair was up, meaning there’s not one pic of that tat anywhere on my computer. So I just snapped this horrible picture of the tattoo that you can barely see. In my dirty mirror, with me still in my yoga clothes. Don’t be judgy.
Anyway, when I was in my 20s, I lived in a VERY rural area in Forest County, Pennsylvania. My mom owned a little general store there and I managed it for about five years.
One day, an elderly man came in. He did his shopping and when he came up to the register, he asked me about my tattoo, specifically, if it was Japanese. I confirmed, figuring he was going to then ask what it said, which is the first thing that most people said when they saw it.
My response then was “Whatever I want it to mean unless you read Japanese.” But in reality, it means some variation of “sex.” My first tattoo, I didn’t want to get something I would hate when I was 80.
But he wasn’t concerned about its meaning. He was offended that I had permanently inked anything Japanese on my body. This man continued, explaining that he was a World War II vet and that he watched the Japanese kill his friends and comrades. And the fact that a Japanese word was on my body, well, it pissed him the fuck off.
I stammered for a moment. Explained that I meant no offense, to him or to anybody. I am, after all, a patriot. And I respect our Vets. As well as the elderly.
So I thanked the man for his service. And also mentioned that today (which was actually 2005), the US has a good relationship with Japan. That for the last 50 years, we’ve been allies.
It didn’t matter. The damage was done. He was angry. And he never came in the store again while I was working.