Good choices = good consequences. Bad choices, well... you get the idea

In addition to our Three House Rules, we have a family mantra: Good choices = good consequences and bad choices = bad consequences. I've been drilling this into my kids' heads for years. They control their own actions and have to be responsible for the outcome good or bad. And for the most part they get it.

The other day, Mark and I took Mad Dog and The Deuce to a water park. Crow Bar stayed home with Grandma so we could ride the big rides. (Thanks, Mom for sparing me a heart attack at the wave pool!)

If you've ever been to a water park (or any public pool for that matter) you know that the people watching is one of the best reasons to go. Knowing that people will be people-watching me back, I'm ridiculously self conscious about how I look at these places. I worry about accidentally exposing the public to my bare midriff or blinding small children with reflected sunlight off my near-translucent thighs. So, I take necessary precautions, wearing a specially engineered tankini that minimizes these risks, but still looks relatively fashionable.

But after less than five minutes at the park, I realize my precautions are unnecessary - there are other women much larger than I wearing bikinis and walking around with the confidence of Playboy Bunnies. From teeny-tiny bikinis in size 42, to giant, ape-like men in Speedos (no, you do not look like Michael Phelps), you see it all... including an interesting variety of tattoo choices.

First, let me say that I'm not against tattoos. In fact, it's quite the contrary. I'd get one someday if I wasn't worried that I'd regret the design or placement somewhere down the road.

I guess I always thought that if I got one, it'd be something very symbolic and placed somewhere that would be covered most of the time. Trouble is, I never have seen a design that I liked enough nor am I comfortable putting its intended location under a tattoo artist's nose for 2 hours.

But, as was evident at the water park, many others do not share these hangups. I saw a woman with intricate vines protruding out from under her swimsuit, originating somewhere near her nether regions. I saw a man with full body art that made it look as if he had on a skin-tight tattoo T-shirt. I saw women with fairies, flowers and Celtic art so masterfully drawn, they made me want one of my own. I saw men sporting colorful coy, masterful portraits of relatives and beautifully written names of loved ones. These people had chosen tattoos that were truly works of art.

By contrast, for every well-chosen tattoo, you'd see ten badly chosen designs. From Jack Daniels bottles to cartoon characters to the damn confederate flag, we saw it all.

We also saw tattoos that had gone bad. What probably seemed like a good choice 20 years ago, didn't age well. I saw several ladies with tragic, sagging lower-back art.

I saw preppy, suburban fathers cradling their toddlers with arms covered by skulls with spiders crawling out of the eye sockets. For every good choice, there were several bad ones.

When my brother was in high school, he begged my parents to let him get a tattoo. Despite their refusal, he studied different designs carefully before settling on a Chinese symbol which he planned to put on his chest. The great tattoo debate had been a source of major friction between he and Mom. She opposed and he persisted, until his eighteenth birthday when he got the tattoo.

Because I haven't seen my brother shirtless much if not at all over the past 15 years, I'd completely forgotten about his tattoo until this summer at a family swim party. Unable to recall what the Chinese symbol meant, I asked him about it.

He rolled his eyes and slapped his hand over his chest, hiding the symbol.

"Oh, this? It means 'don't get a tattoo when you're eighteen'."