I got inked late in life. 51.
My tattoo says Om mani padme hum and is dedicated to Mr. Wolf, my 5th grade French teacher, a Holocaust survivor who taught this confused and angry kid lessons about compassion.
His response when I said something out of ignorance was to take me out into the hall. He pulled up his sleeve, showed me his camp number, and told me that because of what he’d seen and what he’d been through, he could never hate another human being because of who or what they are.
My ink is in rememberance of him.
It took me years to understand and appreciate the gift he gave me. It’s a gift I strive to pay forward each and every day.