We asked readers to send us photos of their tattoos and tell us the stories behind them.
Those stories told of joy, accomplishment, friendship, love, remembrance and sadness. Today, we print a selection of them. Watch for more in future editions of the Times Colonist.
If you want to tell the story of your tattoo, send it with a high-resolution photo to [email protected]
I was in the navy/military for 21 years and, of course, our Navy ships are named HMCS, Her Majesty’s Canadian Ship. Back in the day before we had our third son, I thought it would be pretty cool to have a personalized licence plate Henry, Michelle, Cory and Shawn, which spells out HMCS.
We had a third son and his name is Christopher. I’ve shared this with our family many times and our son Cory came up with the idea of a tattoo for us. HMCCS represents all of our first names. So proud and happy for my family, as we all have an adaptation of this tattoo and, as you can see, a few other ideas. Proud to have served our country and so very proud of my family for coming up with this idea.
— Henry Albrecht, retired
We all met in 1983 in Maple Bay Marina. At that time, we all lived aboard our boats and had arrived there from different cities and towns across Canada. Our common interest is a love of sailing and a love of the ocean.
Many years have gone by since then. We have had children, we have purchased homes and have moved to shore, we have lost loved ones, we have remarried, we have grandchildren.
Through all of this, the good times and the sad, we have remained friends. We call our group the “Island Family.” We celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas together and have an annual camping trip to Port Renfrew. It was on one of these trips that the idea of a tattoo was cultivated.
On several occasions, the ladies proclaimed how lucky we were to have this Island family that was always there for us. We wanted to celebrate and honour our friendship in a meaningful way. We decided, after a glass of wine, that we should do this by getting a tattoo, in fact, by all of us getting the same tattoo. The next thing we had to decide was what type of tattoo we should get.
One of us was out walking on the beach and came across a crunched gift bag with a First Nations stylized whale on it. She walked back to us and suggested we should bring this in to the tattoo artist to see if he could design a whale tattoo that we would all embrace.
We know that killer whales are powerful and symbols of long life; that whales realize the importance of family togetherness, caring and are protective. They bond for life. This is exactly how we all felt and knew that this symbol was meant for us.
We all met the artist and we had them done. We all have an identical whale tattoo.
We now call ourselves “the pod.”
— Lorrie Bell-Wiles
My story and tattoo are a simple one, but have much meaning for me.
My mother had me in 1966 in Victoria when she was 16 years old. And let’s just say she lived the 1970s well, if you know what I mean. Back then, Victoria was a “small town,” and I, as a young child, walked and biked and bused all around the city, content to be on my own, exploring.
Growing up, my time was spent between my grandmother’s house, which had very traditional values, and my mother’s home, which was young, hip, drugs and rock ’n’ roll. My whole life, I felt as if I had one foot in one world and one foot in another. I have struggled with the core values of both all my life.
I have wanted a tattoo for as long as I could remember, but the practical, “Leave it to Beaver, June Cleaver” side of me would not allow it, and at that time it was not as popular as it is today. The words “don’t be young and stupid” rang over and over in my ears. Then, at 27, after the birth of my third child, and, after surviving many difficult life challenges, I decided: “Yes! No more am I going to listen to the old tapes of what I should and should not do to be a respectable person of society.”
I made an appointment to get my tattoo. This was 1993. I went into the tattoo parlour and perused the samples. Roses, butterflies and unicorns splattered the wall, as did skull and bones, grim reaper, naked women, Harley Davidsons, etc. None of this appealed to me. I knew what I wanted.
I wanted a wolf. A Lone Wolf, as I have felt myself to be my whole life. The sound of a wolf howling, singing to connect to its pack, has always touched me deeply. I scanned the wall, I looked through the books but could not find a template of a wolf howling at the moon, so I told the tattoo artist what I wanted.
This is what he came up with. Simple. Beautiful. And whenever I look at it, feeling lost and alone, it reminds me to “sing my song and my ‘pack’ will find me.”
— Dianna Maycock
