I’m a journalist with ink in my blood and on my skin. Stories record and reflect our lives. The same is true of my tattoos. I was 18 when I got my first tattoo. I went to a shop on Broadway in Garland for a small bass clef on my left shoulder. It meant a lot to me then and it still does. There are some good stories related to that tattoo, but they’ll have to wait. That first tattoo was supposed to be the only tattoo. And, for a long time, it was. Fast forward 11 years, I’ve added here and there, marking places, moments and people.

I added and subtracted tattoos last Saturday. Josh Hall, a talented artist at Love-N-Hate Studio in Lewisville, did a great job covering up a chain of elephants with a pair of roses. A touchup session will be necessary, but it’s only because of a botched cover-up I started and ceased two years ago in Rockford. Never-ever, for-never-ever let someone “white-ink” over a tattoo before covering it up. It doesn’t work.

I’ve come to the realization I’ll never be done. I’ve got plenty of things I want to accomplish in my life and just enough skin to document more places, moments and people.