The sun is out, the snow is almost gone, and it actually is warmer than 0C. More importantly, I am heading to the Toronto Motorcycle and Tattoo show today with son number one.

The blend of motorcycles and tattoos (fortunately or unfortunately – depending on your social or ecumenical disposition), lends itself to heightening the mystique of that two-wheeled sub-culture. In my generation when I was my son’s age (21), the notion of voluntarily adding extra holes to the body, was somewhat removed from the norm of expected reality. At least in the household controlled by my admittedly very loving parents. As I have progressed through life, I have observed, acquired and subsequently expunged, certain preconceived notions pertaining to what is traditional or acceptable as forms of personal expressions. These previous elemental notions used to have sway over my thought processes in how I viewed others.

My son has wanted a tattoo for a few years now. He has given it serious thought, and has been conducting extensive research into it. With help from one of his sisters with graphical expertise, he has settled on an admittedly unique design. He will be combining his love for his brother with his love for the iconic Dr. Who portrayed on television. He has designed his brother’s name to be created in the symbolic language from Dr. Who’s planet, Gallifrey.

Some may ask as to the true underlying motivation for this venture. My son was robbed of the opportunity of being a big brother, due to the loss of our youngest son 16 years ago. Years before our loss, I may have questioned his intentions. Isn’t it amazing how as we age, our previous entrenched points of view become impractical or irrelevant with time? I have since learned, life is too short not to enjoy watching your children grow up and express themselves in their own unique way. Carrying and expressing the memory of his little brother is what is important; and we love him to pieces for it. I would go so far as to surmise that my youngest son would have followed right along in his big brother’s footsteps in getting a tattoo; as they were inseparable in their younger years.

So, it is with (good) mixed emotions that I am looking forward to the time spent today with my son. There really should be three of us going to take in the purveyors of bikes and ink, and given that I will suffer that missed opportunity of being a threesome with my boys, it has now got me considering what (meaningful) tattoo, if any, is out there for me.