Member-only story
Vive ut Vivas — Lessons from my ancestors about life
I’m a pretty straightforward, easy-to-read and uncomplicated kind of a guy. Most think they have figured me out at first sight, and they’re right, 99% of the time. I work in a white-collar world and present an unremarkable presence. I dress with reserve rather than flamboyance, I’ve had a beard for years but I’m no hipster and I’ve never had an earring or dyed my hair (other than a regrettable hair-bleaching experiment in my late-teens).
My one gesture towards rebellion, my little secret until you get to know me (unless we meet when I’m wearing a t-shirt) is my love of tattoos. That in itself is barely remarkable these days, since most people of my generation or younger seem to have at least one about their person.
It all started out as an act of minor rebellion, albeit when I was already an adult not long out of university. I picked a simple black tribal design at a local studio and once it was indelibly etched on my upper arm I kept it hidden from my parents for months. The nonchalance of their reaction when I eventually confessed must have been taken as implied-permission to get more, and the years that followed have seen a gradual increase in the size of my collection of ink. Two nearly full sleeves and a piece across my shoulders (affectionately known as ‘family-owl’) are about the sum of it for now, but I’ll add to the…
