My first tattoo was a skull with fangs about the size of a dime, smack in the middle of my upper arm. When I went home for Christmas I covered it with a bandaid. But, the fangs poked out a bit. My dad saw it and asked if it was a tattoo. I told him it was a pimple I had scratched at. End of conversation. When I finally made it back to Houston, a thousand miles away, I called him and told him it was a tattoo. What could he do then? Also, when I got my first sleeve started my mother told me " I think you have enough tattoos that people know what you do. ( I tattoo ) she never even considered that I might be getting the tattoos because I loved them myself! Now 16 years into my career she's very proud and knows I made the right decision for me.