A Burning Question

This is a special time of year for those who are descendants of Northern Europeans with fair complexions – Sunburn Season. Yes, all of us white skin and freckled individuals have something to look forward to, the brutal rays of the summer sun.

Bring out the SPF 1,000, the big umbrellas, wide-brimmed hats and the “Jackie O” sunglasses. It is time to practice “safe sun”. Of course, you can always do what I do – duck, and run for cover.

I was born with the distinctive Irish/English pale skin. My mother was quite fair, so she was cautious of the sun. If she had spent a great deal of time sunbathing when she was pregnant with me, I would have been born sunburnt. In the sun, I always feel like an ant under a magnifying glass waiting to explode into flames.

Let’s face it; I know how a vampire feels – without the coffin and the blood appetizer. Being fair skinned and blue-eyed makes me “ground zero” for the rays of the sun. I was Goth pale before it was popular. It’s not enjoyable trying to relax by a pool resembling King Tut, wrapped from head to toe, or lathering yourself up in a ton of sunblock and looking like the Crisco Kid.

As an infant, my mom had to put colored sheets in the crib so she could find me. Once, I emptied my whole bottle of milk onto the floor from the crib. My mom almost fainted when entering the room; she thought I had fallen out onto the floor. A true example of fair complexion. I was the fairest of them all –the Jersey Snow White.

I grew up in the 60’s, and was constantly called a “cracker”, but it wasn’t meant to be racist. I was literally the color of a saltine. I was a freckled child which was the only tone to my skin.

I had the look of being in the wrong place when the “shit hit the fan.” Without the freckles, I would have been blue eyes and some hair. I was the Casper of my neighborhood or the Pillsbury Doughboy minus the chef hat. I was the inspiration for the song “A Whiter Shade of Pale.”

I always hated my freckles. I was a human version of connect the dots. I’m sure if you were able to draw a line from freckle to freckle, it would spell out Highly Flammable. Also, being in the sun only brings out more freckles.

There is nothing more appealing than freckles on freckles. I had more spots than 101 Dalmatians, so I always had to be on the look out for Cruella Deville. I certainly didn’t need to become a coat.

Thankfully as I matured, the freckles on my face became less prominent. When I was a child, the pale skin and dark circles under my eyes from allergies, gave me the look of “Count Freckula.” I have a picture of myself in grade school sporting the Prince of Darkness look with a few missing teeth.

I keep the photo hidden like the “Portrait of Dorian Gray.” As I recall even the tooth fairy was afraid of me – probably because I glowed in the dark. I received money for my missing teeth through the mail, not under my pillow.

I did enjoy going to swimming pools when I was younger. I don’t remember bad sunburns. I guess my mom provided constant skin surveillance, making sure I was covered in the proper lotion.

Those were the days before the SPF factor was an important component of tanning creams or sunscreens. Our sunscreen was an umbrella, and Coppertone was the tanning lotion of choice.

I didn’t start having sunburn issues until I was away from the watchful eye of mom and was responsible for protecting the white exterior I inherited. In mentioning exteriors, Sherwin Williams once had a brilliant white exterior paint, and the shade was called “Vince.”

This color was taken off the market when consumers found that after painting their houses with it, the heat of the summer sun turned the paint a bright shade of red. It was a quick recall when the paint would blister and peel after it reddened. The unfortunate curse of not enough pigmentation.

After some bad trial and error attempts, I gave up trying to be anything but pasty. Skin cancer became a prevalent topic, and the ozone layer was reported to be wasting away. I lost interest in achieving that beach bum look. Tanning is for leather or “Tan Mom.”

There are benefits to being milky white. I’m an easy patient for drawing blood since you can trace my veins and arteries to my aorta. I’m a lifetime understudy for the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man and I’m invisible in a snow storm.

Frankly, as I’ve matured, I realize I don’t like the beach that much. Sweaty crowds bother me, and so do hairy men shoved into speedos with more junk hanging than Batman’s utility belt. If I want to see a butt crack, I’ll check out Kim Kardashian’s tweets.

I’ve contemplated self-tanners or spray tan, but I don’t want to be some unnatural color – I’ll let Donald Trump keep that distinction. Of course, I could go for it and tell everyone I’m a long lost Trump relative – Orange Julius.

It’s better just to be pale in comparison. Stay away from the rays and the sprays. If I want to glow, I just need to go into direct sunlight. A word of caution though, don’t stare directly at me or you’ll burn your retinas.