I got this tattoo when I was nineteen years old. I was home from college for the summer working a horrible job as a roofing contractor in LaCygne for Boone Brothers Roofing. It was 12-15 hour days in the blazing Kansas summer sun working with 550-degree tar and a foreman who was addicted to speed.
But we made decent money, especially with all the overtime, some of which I blew on my tattoo.
I went to Skin Illustrations in Lenexa and worked with a guy named Clayton to design my tattoo that I had in my mind. I’d been focusing on the word persevere a lot. I thought the word was cool and I loved how I could apply it to nearly every part of my life.
Besides hanging out with my friends and school, my life really focused on one other thing.
Volleyball.
At the time when I got my tattoo, the significance of the word and they ball were very connected. I’d had a disappointing first year at Graceland, but had really re-committed myself that summer to working hard (persevering, natch).
When Clayton gave me the first design, it was bigger than I expected. After waiting for him to reduce the size, I endured the four hours of tattooing. It wasn’t too bad, just like someone scraping my leg for four hours in the same place with a safety pin.
Now, over a decade later, I’m still happy with the tattoo, even if my volleyball-playing days have passed. I’m even ready to get another one. But I’ll save that story for another post.



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