Why I've had a single word and morse code tattooed on my arm - Christa Ackroyd

There is one in particular which for decades I have looked forward to embracing.

It is by Jenny Joseph and it begins ‘When I am an old woman I shall wear purple with a red hat which doesn’t go and doesn’t suit me. And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves and satin sandals and say we have no money for butter.’

It is a wonderful poem of defiance which ends a little wistfully with the thought that the sense of adventure and eccentricity which is surely within us all usually has to wait until people think we are crazy enough to not care two hoots what others may think of us, but until then we have to be upright citizens and conform to expectations.

But perhaps, Ms Joseph adds, we should start to practice being a little more rebellious earlier in our lives so we don’t cause too much shock when we are truly older and start acting as though we have the right to be just as we want to be.

So here goes. This week I have done something which I have always wanted to do but never dared.

And it certainly doesn’t conform to what people expect of a woman in her sixties even if this particular woman has always been seen as a little crackers (ask my granddaughters ; they will confirm this to be true, though I do hope that secretly they enjoy the, shall we say, theatrical side of me).

But I do know it will not be to everyone’s taste and that you, dear reader, may be among the many who will shake their heads wearily and say it is a terrible decision.

My mum would be horrified. My dad, perhaps might understand.

One daughter certainly won’t approve and the other, well blame her she actually went with me during this wonderful adventure we are all having down under in Australia where she has lived for the last two decades.

Indeed it was something she had already done herself, which got me thinking I might like to do the same.

Yes this week at the grand old age of … no matter it is not an age thing it is a state of mind decision … and certainly not a moment of madness, but this week I have, wait for it, ….had a tattoo. There I have said it.

What is more I absolutely love it. Most of the time you won’t even see it. But I know it is there and more importantly why.

And don’t worry it is not scrawled across my back nor is it large. In fact it is so discreet you may wonder why I have bothered.

So before you start judging, before you would say as my mum would almost certainly have said that I have defaced myself for a fad let me tell you what it is and why I have had it.

Although here I must tell you that she waited until she was sixty years old to have her ears pierced because her father didn’t approve of women putting holes in their ears.

Firstly, it didn’t hurt. Secondly it was not done on a whim. It is something I have been thinking about for some time.

It isn’t a flower or even a symbol and it is in the new style called fine line which means it is barely there.

But written in beautiful small and delicate writing is a word that has become my absolute byword for life and how we should live it. The word is nurture.

And it is followed in morse code on the inside of my forearm way above my wrist with what only I know is morse code of the initials of all those who have nurtured me and all those I have had the joy of nurturing in return.

And the first one is my father. M for Maurice because it is he who taught me the gift that is nurture.

You all know I was adopted as a tiny baby. His explanation as he bounced me on his knee as a toddler was almost like a fairy story.

He gently told me repeatedly that the woman who gave birth to me couldn’t look after me and so they went to the place where I was being cared for and chose me.

And it was the best choice they ever made. Imagine that – growing up knowing you were chosen.

As my vivid imagination developed I began to imagine a room full of babies and my mum and dad walking down a line of cots until they saw me where they stopped and said that’s the one.

Far from feeling second best I felt special, even though the truth was almost certainly very different and yes I was matched in some way at the mother and baby home where I spent the first ten days of my life, but I am pretty sure there was no choice involved.

As I grew into a typical teenager more and more questions swam in my mind.

But even then my wise father ably assisted by my adoring mum sat me down and told me how he believed in the power of nurture, a power so strong it could supersede nature.

In other words their choice to nurture me, and my goodness they did, was born out of an overwhelming feeling of love and gratitude for the gift they had been given.

And that gift was me, and later my brother who was also adopted.

And so nurture was a word often used in our house. An unspoken password for the serendipitous meeting that brought us all so much happiness. Down the years I thought of that word so often.

The example of complete unconditional love shown to me became the focus of my life. It is why I genuinely believe that later our blended family of step children and birth children was so easily navigated.

Because all a child wants in life is nurturing. Boundaries, attention, support yes, but above all nurturing which is just another word for love. And they were all equal in needing that.

Over the years I hope I have developed some of my father’s nurturing skills, which is why he might have at least understood my first and probably last foray into the world of tattooing.

I will never be as patient as he was. I will never be as calm and dignified as he showed us every day of his life, and boy did he need all those qualities raising the rebel that was me in my much younger days and maybe just maybe still is.

So you see it doesn’t matter to me who approves or vehemently disapproves of my decision to embrace a little ink, as I think they say now.

I have reached the time in my life when I can do things for me as well as for others and I wanted something to see, to touch, to smile at that would reconnect the young Christa with the Christa of now, as well as my beautiful parents and all those I have been lucky enough to have loved or been loved by – and I think nurture sums up my life’s journey pretty well.

So I don’t want to wear purple or a red hat that doesn’t suit me.

I just want to be truly thankful for the lessons of the past and all my life has taught me so far, while remembering it most certainly isn’t over yet. So what is one little tattoo?

Maybe, just maybe I might have a few more surprises literally up my sleeve to come.

I do hope so. Of that my father would certainly approve.