When I was a teen, I would have paid for a tan. A real honest-to-goodness tan. But instead I was blessed with the skin of an Irishman, freckles and pale. I can still hear my friend's mother commenting about how white my legs were while piling into her car. That was 1972.
But I kept denying my fate. I sat out in the sun with my face turned directly into the sun's rays. I lathered on the baby oil just like everyone else. Then I turned deep red, blistered and peeled. And then... I did it again. You can look at my arms for proof that I have not ever shied away from the sun. I'd win a freckle contest if it only included arms. I used to think that if I got enough freckles, they would join together and then I'd look like I had a tan.
When I was pregnant with my Darling Daughter I wished for a happy, healthy baby. But I also wished she would NOT have freckles. All my wishes came true. She is blessed with tannable skin.
Fast forward to Year 2010. We are smarter now. We know the sun will damage your skin. As I type this I know that an old high school mate is dying of melanoma. I know this is serious stuff.
My D.D. just returned from a two-week camp of fun in the sun, snorkeling and diving. She was tan and thrilled to be so. I know I should have cautioned her about not using her sun screen, but instead I was excited for her. A tan! How glorious!
I admit it, I am a bad mother in the tan department. I even at one point suggested she go to a tanning booth and get a base. She even chastised me for that one. Sorry it was a 70's moment. I take it back.
Fortunately, she has a great dad who keeps an eye on both of us. Hubby lathers us down in #30 whenever he can get his hands on it and us. If we survive our time in the sun, it will be because of him.
And that fake tan stuff helps too, even if I do turn a little orange.