Discovering your prejudices

Discovering your prejudices

I just had a moment where I discovered a prejudice and I was surprised at myself.

I was looking at a photo of a father holding his baby and he was covered in tattoos from head to toe. I don’t find tattoos attractive so I knew that about myself. However what I was surprised to find is that my first thought in looking at that photo was a negative one about the man holding the baby.

I could say that the culture that I am most familiar with views men with tattoos as criminals. I could say that my own experience with people with tattoos has been negative. Those all are true. However,  I don’t know that particular man and I have no right to judge him based on his preference for ink on his body.

I have shared I was a fat kid and I am proud that I have never let weight of others be a factor in how I think of them. Yet, I was willing to let something else that was superficial let me judge someone else. I wonder why? I wonder why we allow some prejudices and not others?

I don’t think I will ever get a tattoo and frankly I don’t understand people who do get them. They say that it makes them feel prettier. I think people are pretty just as they are. Very few people are truly ugly in my opinion, and sometimes they are beautiful on the inside. The ugliest people I have meet have terrible attitudes, and no amount of external help makes me want to talk or spend time with them.

I have friends who have tattoos and I understand that they find it important. For some people they have a word or phrase inscribed and that helps them focus on what is important. Others might have something that reminds them of a positive time in their lives. Those sound like very valuable and helpful reasons to have one. For me it doesn’t make sense because I don’t like pain, and I love my original appearance.

I had a relative get an artificial heart and I find that as medical science improves we will have to decide how much of a machine we want to become. I personally will not be putting any machine parts inside of me. If that means my death then so be it. I am not turning myself into a machine, nor a whiteboard for a tattoo artist. Everyone has their choices in life and this is one of mine. When my body breaks I will gracefully bow out of life, and thats fine with me.

Machine parts or ink will never be a part of me, but I won’t judge you if want them as part of you.

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