With tattoos becoming increasingly popular, it is not uncommon to come across individuals who have extensive body art. Unfortunately, some people face criticism and even calls for their children to be taken from them. One such case is that of a Canadian man named Remy who has spent over $100,000 on tattoos and has encountered criticism on social media, with some people telling him he’s not a suitable father.
He doesn’t feel guilty about being a tattooed dad.
Despite his extensive amount of ink, Remy doesn’t feel guilty about his tattoos, nor does he believe they’ve changed who he is as a person or a father. He says, “Tattoos and piercings haven’t changed at all, so I wasn’t worried that my son would see me differently.”
But the man has been criticized for not being a stereotypical father.
Remy shared that he has received online comments suggesting that his son should be taken away from him due to his appearance. He stated, “I’ve had a few people say things like my son should be taken from me because of how I look, but this is only ever online.”
He continued, “My argument to that would be that if you think that way, you should never have children yourself.”
Remy added that while people stare at him in public, they only say nice things and ask questions about his tattoos. “People stare a bit [in public] but they only say nice things and ask how long it took, how I handle the pain, and generally compliment my work,” he attests.
His child is nonchalant toward his father’s tattoos.
Remy’s first tattoo was of his son’s name, but since then, he has become obsessed with getting more and more ink. His son never really noticed his tattoos.
“He’s never really noticed them, as I was already pretty different looking [when he was born in 2009] — it’s completely normal for him. As he’s gotten older, he’s become very nonchalant, and it’s actually made him more tolerant of people being different looking, I believe,” Remy says.
In fact, Remy’s son’s favorite tattoo is the eye on his stomach and chest.
Being a good parent has nothing to do with superficial looks.
While some may argue that Remy’s tattoos make him an unfit parent, it’s important to remember that body modification is a personal choice and doesn’t necessarily reflect one’s ability to be a good parent. As long as a parent is providing a safe and loving environment for their child, their appearance should not be a factor in determining their ability to care for their children.
One of Remy’s fans explained things in a wonderful way.
As one commenter on Remy’s story put it, “You give the cloth and care about what you do. As long as you can put a roof over your child’s head, it’s not anyone’s job.” Ultimately, it’s up to each individual to decide how they want to present themselves to the world, and that decision should not be used to judge their worth as a parent.
As we conclude this story of unfair judgment and inked journeys, it’s only the beginning of our exploration into the world of those living tattooed lives. In our next article, we’ll introduce you to a mom whose 800 tattoos have become a barrier to employment, shedding light on the surprising consequences of living life fully inked.
Preview photo credit ephemeral_remy / Instagram, ephemeral_remy / Instagram
My Daughter, 5, Brought Me a Picture from Her Dad’s Suitcase, but When I Saw It, I Fainted
When Emma’s mother found an odd ultrasound in her father’s purse, she thought the world would end. This resulted in a revelation at supper that fundamentally changed the dynamics inside their family.
The front door squeaked open, letting my husband Jack’s recognizable silhouette fill the entryway. He looked tired from his travels, and his shoulders were sagging with fatigue, but as soon as he stepped into our cozy home, his eyes lit up with relief.
The random array of briefcases, baggage, and other items thrown at the doorway was a chaotic memorial to his last business trip, belying the confusion of his return. One suitcase had his coat hanging loosely from it, while another had a tangle of charging cords sticking out of it, all of which were silently documenting his hectic trips between airports and appointments.
In the middle of this dispersed scene, our daughter Emma’s bright eyes shone with the unabashed delight that only a child’s innocence can portray. Her four-year-old’s world was awash with curiosity and discovery.
There was much excitement about her father’s return, rumored to hold stories and perhaps even a hidden treasure from his travels. Her small, delicate hands were often employed to investigate the world around her and find new puzzles to solve. Her curiosity was as boundless as the sky.
Emma’s happy laughter echoed throughout the home as she ran between the bags, her tiny feet barely making a sound on the luxurious carpet. Her golden locks bounced with each step, giving Jack’s sullen countenance a bright contrast. She was the life force of our home, filling every nook and cranny with brightness and energy and acting as a constant reminder of the love that had once formed the cornerstone of our family.
I observed her and felt a mixture of love and horror. Emma’s innocence shielded her from the complexities of adult emotions and the minor tensions that had crept into our marriage. But in her innocent joy and discovery, she was about to uncover a secret that would tear apart the carefully maintained façade of our family life.
The scene was set in the most banal way imaginable: our kid, the picture of pure wonder, tripping over the mess, our weary husband making his way home, and the scattered remnants of his trips all over our foyer.
We were unaware that this ordinary day would take an unexpected turn, revealing realities lurking beneath the surface of our daily lives and upending the very foundation of our relationship.
Then, among the jumble of business papers and trinkets, Emma’s hand was unexpectedly snagged by something. Her eyes widened as she produced a small piece of paper, a glimmer of triumph and curiosity flickering inside.
Holding her prize behind her back, she approached me with a cunning glee and her voice was a mix of surprise and mischief. She said, “Mommy, you’ll never guess what I found!”
She stood in front of me, her tiny hands revealing the object of her finding, an ultrasound image. Her little, delicate fingers were a striking contrast to the image’s stark black and white. It displayed an almost indistinguishable tiny fetus with distinctly human features. The image’s caption read, “Hey Daddy, I’m coming shortly.” T,” a message that cut through the warm fabric of our family’s existence like a cold knife.
A abyss of shock and astonishment descended onto my heart. The room seemed to tilt and swing as I took in the sight, and the ultrasound image solidified in my memory at every angle and contour. It was dated as recently as last week, at which time Jack was supposedly busy with meetings and business affairs. The truth of what I was seeing was vastly different from the world I thought I understood.
I experienced a torrent of emotions washing over me. A web of confusion, betrayal, and burning pain intertwined to tighten its grip around my throat. My mind raced, trying to put the disparate pieces of information that had soured our recent conversations about his trip together. There were clear ramifications to this ultrasound scan, but my heart refused not accept them.
Emma didn’t realize the range of feelings her revelation had brought about as she looked up at me with naive, hopeful eyes, waiting for my reply. Her face, which ordinarily brought me comfort and joy, now conveyed the picture of an unfamiliar world that I was ill-prepared to confront. All of the things we held dear, including love and daily routines, seemed to crumble in that moment, revealing a layer of dishonesty that threatened to engulf all we held dear.
With a whirlwind of anger and pain inside of me, I sat by myself in our bedroom, clutching the ultrasound image with trembling hands. My thoughts was a war zone, propelled by the need to confront Jack immediately and the want to come up with a plan that would reveal his sincere deceit. Although I wanted to scream and shatter the facade of normalcy, there was a part of me that longed for a more measured approach, a way to assess the depth of his treachery.
The image of Emma’s defenseless face juxtaposed with the depressing ultrasound image made me more determined. I needed to know if Jack regretted anything, if the man I’d loved was still out there somewhere, or if it was all just a dream. I took the difficult choice to come up with a plan that would expose the true nature of his sincerity and dedication.
I returned the original ultrasound to the spot where Emma had discovered it, ensuring that it was among Jack’s belongings and watching over it patiently for the right moment. Then, with a seemingly sad but also liberating conclusion, I staged a fictitious event to simulate Emma’s discovery but with a twist. I created a fake ultrasound image, identical to the one Emma found, with my initials on it, hoping to fabricate a tale that would force Jack to come clean.
The whole evening was put up to give the sense of deceptive normalcy, complete with candles lit on the table and the aroma of a delicious dinner permeating the air. He grinned as Jack came in, anticipating a passionate reunion but oblivious to the storm that was gathering beneath.
The dinner passed quickly, and with each bite, I felt my chest getting tighter and tighter until the inevitable conclusion. Finally, I appeared to be sensitive and held up the fake ultrasound, saying, “Dear, there will be four of us soon.” The air thickened with the words hanging between us like a baited trap waiting for its prey.
Jack initially expressed excitement and amazement, but as the situation dawned on him, his look changed to one of total bewilderment, and then terror. His face fell and tears flooded his eyes as he whispered, “Dear, you know everything, it was a mistake.” She doesn’t have my heart. While I’m staying with you, we will raise our newborn together.
His words, which were meant to be an appeal for forgiveness and were laced with desperation and regret, served only to highlight the awful truth of his adultery and the weakness of our shared past.
Jack’s confession came gushing out, a heartbreaking symphony of words pleading for pardon, and it transformed my life forever. His tears, which had formerly symbolized our shared joy and sorrow, were now springing from a deceitful well.
My heart was no longer the haven of love and trust, but rather a fortress of treachery and wrath. His pleas for forgiveness and his claims that he had only erred once echoed hollowly across the space between us.
With his voice breaking under the weight of his own words, Jack added, “It was just a moment of weakness; I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“A mistake in judgement?” I shot back, my voice strong but the tempest within of me scorching. Is it by that name that you mean? A moment that disregards our family’s fundamental principles and betrays years of mistrust?
He reached out, seeking the comfort of a touch that had once soothed and united us, but I pulled back, our physical distance now more than mere proximity. “Jack, I thought we had overcome the challenges. that when we banded together, we could conquer any challenge. But what about this? “This is a hurdle too high, a breach too deep,” I said, gesturing with unsteady hands still holding the fake ultrasound.
His attempts to justify his actions and paint it as a fleeting error only made me more determined. I had never seen the man before; his once-recognizable features had been clouded by lies and negligence. Remorse and despair were all on him.
My resolve solidified when the realization of his betrayal set in. I exclaimed, my principles breaking through the emotional fog, “Jack, I can’t forgive this.” “Trust and respect were the foundations of our marriage and family, and you have destroyed both.”
The room was heavy with the silences and the broken pieces of a life we would no longer share. Resolving to face the ruins of our mutual past and the uncertainty of my future with Emma, I gathered what little self-respect and resolve I still had.
In the silence that followed, I assembled the essentials, each one representing a facet of the life I was leaving behind—a life marred by betrayal but not defined by it. Emma was my beacon of hope because she remained untouched by the hard realities of growing up complicated. Her innocence reminded me of the pure love that was still inside of me.
As I closed the door behind me, the act’s finality served as a grim witness to our marriage’s disintegration. There lay a journey of self-discovery and healing for Emma and me, one that would culminate in an honest and accountable future.
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