C Note(s)

They say freedom isn't free, that there's always a cost. I couldn't agree more. Several years ago, I was freed from a prison I didn't know I was in or could see. You can't spell freedom without freed. 8 years ago on 4th of July weekend, I visited my friends in Phoenix. They invited me down after hearing news of my impending divorce. Since my pity party had lasted months up to this point, I accepted their offer, if only to escape the situation for awhile. Prior to my trip, I designed a tattoo, and had it put on. In retrospect, I honestly believe I've always had this tattoo underneath my skin and on my soul and it simply hadn't manifested itself, yet. Keyword: yet. Up until this point, again, there was no catalyst. It wasn't freed. Well after my wife had dropped a bomb on me mid-March, that all changed. So with my design, and $100 aka C Note, I drove to the nearest tattoo parlor. I explained to the artist, that I didn't want a tattoo until I had so...

Scars usually have a story, don’t they? Some good, some bad, some happy accidents, and some heart-breaking stories. If you’re ever spent any time around me, invariably, I’ll utter the words, “Keep digging.” The following is the origin story of my scar on my left calf and my tattoo that's above it. It was a summer day of my senior year in high school in 1994. I was having a blast with my new mountain bike in the summer sun. Up until I was miles away from my home. I jumped the bike off the sidewalk and in a downhill direction. As I landed, the plastic pedals shattered, and my legs jarred the asphalt hard as my groin slammed into the bracing bar. As I grappled for control of my bike, I crashed hard into a faded mustard yellow Ford Pinto. Without a helmet or any other protective gear, I blacked out on impact. When I was conscious again, I startled myself again with questions I couldn’t possibly answer.   What happened? How long was I out? What am I gonna do now? Af...