A bitter sweet ending to a piece that brought closer.

A bitter sweet ending to a piece that brought closer. As I was sitting in the chair tonight, I was overwhelmed with emotion. I was finally getting the portrait of the man who raised me. My Father. I handle pain well in terms of tattoos, being that I stopped counting at 50. But this one was different; every strike of the needle reminded me of ever glimmer of pain my Father was inflicted with during his last days on earth. The sound of the tattoo gun was back ground music for me to reminisce on all the good moments we shared during my adolescence. My Father brought reson and logic to everything he was encounter with. I often ask my self, Will I ever come close to being the Father to my kids that he was to me? Probably not. Why? Because Mark Taras was one of a kind. He was man of integrity, a man of compassion, a man who took care of his family, and didn’t put up with senseless bullshit. He worked his ass off to insure that my brother and I had everything we wanted.

Because of that I’m proud to wear the love of my father on my arm.