As the Players Stand at the Foul Line, the TV Cameras Focus on Their Muscular Arms.

I have always admired a certain tattoo during the NBA playoffs. It is a circular tattoo that goes around the biceps muscle. It has many variations, but the one I like the best is the one that is barbed wire. To me it represents a certain rugged type of individual.

Having a real ring of barbed wire on your muscle would cause a lot of pain, a bloodletting of considerable amount and tough pride and guts to withstand the consequences. Admiring something and actually doing same are worlds apart.

Last weekend I flew to a Bar Mitzvah in Los Angeles. My dental school classmate, Donny Kaner was the grandfather and his capable and gracious wife, Elaine were the reasons our invitation was received. The Bar Mitzvah was the culmination of a learning process for a boy who had learning difficulties. He performed flawlessly. It was the most touching and wonderful service I have ever attended. Crying and tear-wiping were mingled with happiness and laughter.

We then proceeded to the celebration at the catering hall. It was real California style, but somehow this easterner managed to fit in. Outside on the terrace was a middle-aged lady who was placing removable tattoos (usually henna) on the arms and faces of all the teenagers. She had a selection book that was quite interesting. After waiting in line, it was my chance to get my markings.

I naturally chose the barbed wire around the left bicep in a dark India ink. I was elated at joining my NBA friends with the glorious tattoo. It came out perfectly. With a sudden mad burst of chutzpah I had her tattoo "LIVE FREE OR DIE" on my right arm. A lifelong desire had been filled.

My wife Lorraine, however, was not impressed, but we sometimes have to override marital caution and do what really pleases us. I started to roll up my sleeves wherever we went so the world could share in my happiness. I caught the glances of many guys who were well-muscled and could be called biker-types.

When I took my grandchildren on a carousel ride in Balboa Park in San Diego, the burly operator of the carousel approached me and asked me what was the legend on my right arm. When he saw "LIVE FREE OR DIE" he was either very impressed or stunned. Lorraine immediately blurted out that, "It was only a temporary tattoo," ruining the effect.

However, the next day we visited my granddaughter's school. The double tattoos were not a positive factor in the first-grade classroom. The academic atmosphere did not coordinate with the markings on my arms.

Thankfully, both tattoos have faded almost out of sight, but I did enjoy them while they lasted. The lifetime of rectitude I have lived will not be canceled out by one week of wild indulgence.