On my Mexican vacation there were only 2 golden days of mild breezes and sun. I was determined to bring some sun back home to winter Colorado with me, in my skin. I skipped my Vitamin D capsule those mornings and bared my skin.
The first day I used some natural sunscreen, following the dictates of the medical pundits. I broke a welcome sweat in the heat. I rotated myself on the rotisserie/lounge chair as I read about childhood during the time of Cuba’s revolution. I browned gently and evenly.
The second day I skipped the sunscreen. Again, the reading and rotating. I wore a scarf on my head when the wind picked up a bit, tired of hair whipping my face.
What about this tanning thing. Since I was a child, tan from playing outside all summer, I felt more myself when my Caucasian tone of skin darkened to a deep olive tan. Am I being nostalgic for my past lives of dark skin? I thank God/dess that at least I don’t burn easily like so many white folks.
My father’s skin was similar—tanning easily and staying tan a long time. Still, we are white under our swimsuits. Maybe I just need more time at my favorite clothing optional venue.
The question of heritage and skin color always comes up for me. My grandmother, who emigrated from Norway, said that we had gypsy blood. Dad said she was joking. I’m not so sure. While Grandpa had the blue-eyed, Viking build, Grandma was short and birdlike, with deep brown eyes and that olive tendency in her skin.
Maybe I’m not a white girl after all.
by Terra Rafael
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