Sunscreened

I am writing today about my liberation.

From what, you may be wondering.  Let me explain.

As a kid, atarting as a fairly young age, it seemed a main summer goal of many people I knew to achieve the deepest, darkest tan possible.  My neighbors, who I thought were authorities on about everything, would slather on the suntan oil (not sunscreen, mind you, as he point was to literally fry the skin), and lie outside in the Sun for hours.  I could never go that far, as it did strike me as boring, hot, and a huge waste of time.  My mom got annoyed if I tried to pull that off, anyway.

But, having a nice tan was not optional in the summers, especially during those fun middle and high school years.  Every girl I knew spent mental energy achieving a deep brown skin tone or lamenting the fact that she could not.  My small hometown was not terribly diverse, you might be noticing.  There were lots of Hispanic folks, and even those girls wanted tan lines.

So, you see, we basically ignored the fact that some people were much darker completed than others.  No one I knew paid much attention to differences in melanin endowment.  If you wanted to look respectable, you better get some brown legs, or else.

Alas, I have pasty, freckly skin that should never come in direct contact with the sun's rays without  at leat SPF 50.

I know that now.  And it only took about 20 nasty sunburns and an encounter with a precancerous lesion on my nose to figure it out.

As a teenager, I did get pretty dark in the summer, mostly because I worked as a lifeguard and had ungodly amounts of sun exposure.  And a few friends who were similar in the complexion department agreed that we just had to burn first in order to tan.  As if getting through our skins'  initial resistance opened the door for a nice healthy glow. Duh.  Can you say 'massive skin damage? "

If you were lucky enough to get to the beach on an actual ocean shore, you were expected to come home with the coppertone tan lines to prove it.  Hence, beach vacations involved a great deal of lying still, perfectly positioned in accordance with the angles of the sun, absorbing UV rays in exactly the right places, turning over on schedule to ensure even distribution of color.

By the time I graduated from college, I had gotten a clue and was completely over it.  Well, maybe not completely, since my BFF and I spent some, but not too much, time achieving a sun-kissed look for our wedding days....

At age 32, I had a precancerous spot removed from my nose.  Now, I wear SPF 50 (or higher)  sunscreen pretty much anytime I'm outdoors, even in the winter.

If that doesn't sound like liberation, you are mistaken, my friend, and I'll tell you why.

Now, when I'm at the beach, I can enjoy the beach.  I splash in the waves with my children, take in the beauty of the water and waves, and build sandcastles all afternoon without a second of mental energy spent on avoiding tan lines in the wrong places or, heaven forbid, ending up darker on one side than the other.

Culturally, thanks to public service announcements and general awareness of the dangers of tanning, I thought we were by and large over our obsession with all this.  Now that I'm at the beach, I'm not so sure.

My own children, biological and adopted, as well as my husband, have nice, naturally dark complections. Even so, I keep them covered with sunscreen.  I'm very used to being the whitest person in our house.

Now, however, I think I may be the least tanned person in all of Florida.

And that is really fine with me.