I grew up in a hippy ass section of Minneapolis called the West Bank, and there were a few biker bars on the south end of the neighborhood. I remember I was about 8 years old when I really noticed them and thought they were rad as shit.
On another note, I remember when my son first noticed tattoos as something unnatural on the body. When he was 3, he was sitting on my lap when his eyes locked onto my arm. He grabbed my arm firmly and scanned it over with intense focus...then let out the words "cool, dad"