Be honest…..have you ever been behind someone in line, say at Target and the person in front of you is covered in tattoos/piercings and your first thought of this person was not all that nice? What’s my answer? Of course I have. I draw my own conclusions of people based upon first impressions all the time. We all do that. It’s okay though; our thoughts are our thoughts. It’s what we do with those thoughts that matters.

Discrimination and stereotypes in the tattoo and body piercing world is as old as the industry itself. People with body art can conjure up images of bikers, addicts, hoodlums and all other kinds folk that you may not want to bring home to mamma. And when you see someone who has multiple eyebrow piercings, studs in their tongues and cheeks or subdermal implants, don’t you automatically think, what the hell is wrong with you? That’s how I used to think.

Before meeting Augie, I was that person who stereotyped anyone with a tattoo. I automatically assumed that they were questionable people. Tattoos=rebellious behavior, right? That’s what I saw on TV. Take Ozzy Osbourne, for example. We all know about his past….addiction, arrests, and so on. I’d watch his videos on MTV as a kid and just stare at his tattoos. I thought they were so cool, but he wasn’t someone I’d want to hang around. He conveyed the stereotype.

Even the night I met Augie, I was terrified, yet intrigued. I was 18 at the time and my friends brought me up to what was Doc Finn’s at the time. One of them could get a tattoo. The whole ride there, my stomach did flip flops. I was crazy nervous. I was convinced that the entire place was going to be full ex-cons, bikers and basically every stereotypical scary person you can imagine. It didn’t help that on the way there we had to pass the state mental hospital that housed many individuals deemed criminally insane. Not a good sign.

When we got there, I was too chicken to go in first. I made one of my friends go in front of me. Who am I kidding….I made them both go in front of me. I figured that if I was at the end of the line, I could make a quicker get away if it was necessary. See, I was a shy wallflower kind of person. I liked to stay in my glass house where I can look out, but no one can enter. It also doesn’t help that I possess an overactive imagination that causes me to conjure up amplified images of scenarios that couldn’t possibly happen.

To be honest, the first time I saw him, he did scare me. His first impression was not the best. He was sitting there bent over, tattooing a young man. He had these black MC Hammer pants on (you know the kind….crotch down to the knees) that were adorned with multiple rainbows than tucked into his high top gym shoes.

The shirt, I had assumed, was one he chose with the lights off in his bedroom. It was an unusual shade of olive green, but not quite the color of the lightest shade of camouflage that had this black writing indicative of what you’d find on a cargo crate. To complete his ensemble was a pair of tinted aviator glasses that he peered over as he worked. Not once did I think….hey, I’m gonna marry this guy some day!!!

It wasn’t until I formally met him on our way out that I saw how big he was as well. He is 6’3” and I’m 5’2” on a good day. He towered over me. My imagination swirled again with a tornado of thoughts….I wonder if he’s ever been to prison and I bet he owns a Harley. Those thoughts were shattered like a hammer to my glass house when he spoke. He was so kind, polite and quite the gentleman; not a hoodlum or biker dude I had fabricated in my head. My narrow mind began to open.

As I got to know both him and Doc, my preconceived notions of tattooed people continued to fade away. They weren’t bad guys. Doc was a husband with four great kids and Augie was a 22 year old teddy bear. It didn’t take long to be smitten with him. He was a genuinely nice guy that happened to be tattooed and pierced. The stereotypes were gone. Well, at least in my mind.

My parents were not thrilled when I told them I was dating a tattoo artist. They had it in their heads that people with tattoos are addicts and abusers. My mom was convinced that this guy was going to get me strung out and beat me. She thought I was ruining my life. I tried for months to convince her otherwise with no luck.

When things between Augie and I were getting serious, we decided it was time that he met my parents. My mom made it clear that she would meet him, but I was not to plan on her accepting him. She was still convinced he was an all-around bad guy based on his occupation. That all changed when Augie arrived at the house.

When he came in, my parents were already in the foyer, staring him down with a look of don’t f**k with me or my kid. I could tell Augie was shaking in his boots. Poor guy! He was so nervous to begin with and then to come in the house and my parents are standing there, ready to pounce, I’m surprised he stayed.

I noticed that his hand was behind him as he entered. He gave me a kiss and handed me a peach rose from behind his back. Awe…see mom….he’s sweet! He turned to my dad and shook his hand before turning to my mom, still with one hand behind his back, to make her acquaintance. As he shook her hand, he brought his other hand around and presented her with a bouquet of peach roses. Remember that stern look she gave him when he arrived? Gone! Her heart melted and has remained melted even after all these years.

The moral to this story is……don’t judge a book by its cover. Sure, there will always be those out there that cast a bad light on anything that’s stereotyped, but you have to look past that. So I dare you….go out and strike up a conversation with someone that has a bah-zillion tattoos or has piercings in their face and their ear lobes stretched out down to their chins. I bet you will forget what’s on them and like what’s in them instead.