Tattoos make grandmother's body a conversation piece

/Home/Articles About Tattoos and Piercings

Tattoos make grandmother's body a conversation piece
June 20, 2011
Dawn Turner Trice
Chicago Tribune

At a country club lecture and luncheon this year, Helen Lambin was one of several mature women seated in a banquet hall. Some had white hair like hers and they all were tastefully dressed.

When Lambin took a sip from her coffee cup — after having had a couple of mimosas — the sleeve of her suit jacket slid down, exposing her bare forearm. One woman seated at Lambin's table saw her tattoos — a brilliant, in-your-face array of reds and blues and yellows and greens — and gasped: "Are those real?"


"I said, 'They certainly are,'" Lambin told me as we sat in the dining room of her Edgewater home last week. "The man I was with said, 'You should see the entire arm.' Another woman at the table started to talk about some of the things she'd wanted to do, but was afraid to. It opened her up."

How tattoos have opened Lambin up is one story. But how her body art has connected her to young people, often young people of color, is quite another. And it's why she contacted me amid the recent news and ugly racial commentary about the downtown attacks by a teen mob.

She said that when she's downtown dressed in short sleeves and shorts, with her "tats on full display," young people stop her on the street to compliment her. They feel free to strike up a conversation, asking which tattoo shop she used and whether getting them was painful. Tourists sometimes ask to take a picture with her. Others simply yell, "Nice ink!"

She said her tattoos attract people who ordinarily might just see her as a "gray-haired, senior, white lady."

In an email to me, Lambin wrote: "The ink, all colorful, well done — and never offensive, I hope — forms a bridge that reaches across age, gender, race and cultural borders.

"Now, I am not dim. I know that some groups of people — including young people — can be dangerous. … Any violence is terrible and tragic. But these kids — and to me they are kids — have been polite, friendly and fun. Even as I talk about meeting them, they probably go home and talk about the eccentric older lady with all the ink."

But it's not just the young people who open up. Lambin said her tattoos embolden her. Suited up, she can be mild-mannered and demure. But when she shows some skin, she becomes her real self: one who's determined to speak out against sexism, racism, gender inequality and homophobia, among other topics.

And, she's been known to do it using colorful language.

"I attend a church called Immanuel and my daughter, Rosemary, calls me the 'Rahm' of Immanuel," she said, referring to Mayor Rahm Emanuel, who also knows his way around choice words.

Lambin won't reveal her age, but she will tell you that she has three children in their 40s and an 18-year-old granddaughter. She married in 1962 and reared her children in the same Edgewater home she still lives in, but at a time when body art was mostly for bikers and soldiers.

She got her first tattoo three years ago when she was feeling down about growing old. Located on her left shoulder, the tattoo is a daisy with the peace symbol on its face.

"I was retired and I didn't have to worry about how it might look in the workplace," said Lambin, who used to be a program coordinator at Loyola University. "I was feeling depressed and I would not allow myself to be depressed, so I wanted to do something different. I decided I didn't want to grow old gracefully."

One tattoo led to another until they now color both arms and portions of herlegs. Each tattoo has a story and meaning.

Her tattoo reading "PAZ," Spanish for peace, is a favorite among war veterans at peace rallies, as is her original daisy tattoo. She got a blue baby dolphin tattoo to remind her of a 1992 trip to Mexico, where she and her daughter swam with dolphins. She got a second dolphin tattoo because "the baby needed a mother."

She has a pink rabbit in memory of her husband, who died in January 1996, and called her "Bunny" and "Rrr-abbit" because of her "big, wide bunny grin." A seahorse on her right forearm has the rainbow gay pride colors. "It's a statement of solidarity for my gay friends," she said.

She's a writer, so a quill speaks to her love of words. And several tattoos — a lime green gecko, a Celtic snake and a Celtic goose — symbolize rebirth and renewal. Musical notes, a bass clef and B flat, represent the sound of the universe. And among other tattoos on her arms are flowers, stars and lovely birds.

On her legs are the Tree of Life, a lighthouse and, her most recent tattoo, a tortoise.

She won't say how much she's invested in her art, but she said it brings her joy and is far cheaper than therapy. She hopes to continue filling her legs.

But you know the tattoo that some women have on their lower back (or, more precisely, upper buttocks), sometimes called a "tramp stamp"? Lambin said that area is off limits.

"I'll only get tattoos in places I don't mind showing the world," she said with a laugh.

"I grew up in a small Iowa town where everyone spoke to everyone. My tattoos allow me to do that here. I'm told that after years and years they fade, but what does that matter to me at my age?"