Getting all Maverick

Went to the beach for a few hours last weekend to enjoy the rare sunshine here in LA. We brought our daughters, 14 and about to be 13, with us. And that's when we noticed something unusual.

It wasn't that our daughters were the only kids not sporting tattoos.

It was that we were the only parents not sporting tattoos.

We've grown accustomed to seeing all kinds of stupid tatts on kids. It's on their backs, on their legs, even on their necks, which has got be a plus when going in for a job interview. But now we're seeing people our age (we don't have to go into specific numbers) with the obligatory barb wire anklet, the ubiquitous ass stamp and the always (though never) intriguing Chinese symbol.

There was a time when only rebels, misfits or non-conformists would show their spirited individuality with a lifetime commitment to ink. But now that see-saw has tipped. These days, if you want to show the world you don't live by its rules, that you call your own shots, that you dare to buck the trends, the thing to do is NOT get tattoed.

And that suits me fine.

Because I hate needles.