They Don’t Call Me Red For Nothing!

 Already it’s easy to imagine that I am, in fact, a red head. That’s not why they call me red. I’ve long been teased for wearing long sleeves and pants in the summer. Often, my neckline gets higher with increasing temperatures. Those that truly know me now understand, but it wasn’t always so. I think as the scorching temps caused others to shed their layers and bask in under the sun’s warmth, friends and family just couldn’t understand how this freckled, pasty-white girl could be dressed in what most would consider an Autumn wardrobe. When invited to a lake, I would ask, “Are there trees near the shoreline? Is there any shade?” In fact, I’ve turned down many invitations to the breathtakingly beautiful beaches in Southern California in favor of a shady park during the summer season.

            It’s not surprising to some that I would have married a man with beautifully tanned skin. I’m secretly jealous. I watch him shed the sleeves, pant legs, neckline, and sometimes his shirt altogether during the summer. I’ll admit, it’s not a bad thing to see. He loves the sun and the beech. We have two beautiful children, both with beautiful complexions somewhere in between the shades of his and mine. They are sun lovers as well and as they grew into pre-teens and then teens it became more difficult to hide from the sun and still engage in summertime fun that didn’t involve my nemesis-the sun.

            I agreed to get out of the car that day, to frolic on the sand. After all, it was nearly sundown and the ocean breeze was irresistibly refreshing. My kids shed their layers, down to their bathing suits and began body surfing with their father far out into the waves. I stood, toes in the surf, watching and taking in the light bouncing off the ocean’s surface. The sweet scent of the cool ocean air was a welcome change to this sweltering day. Even I had abandoned my long pants in favor of my linen Capri’s and short-sleeved linen shirt. I stood there in the surf and watched the sun sink behind the edge of the water and relished the sound of laughter coming from my family nearby. I must have stayed ankle deep in the salty spray for at least an hour before I realized I hadn’t put on any sunscreen at all that day.

            As we packed up our beech towels and prepared for the forty minute drive home, my husband remarked, “Honey, your legs look red. I think you got too much sun.” I was sure it was true. I’d been standing in the water for nearly an hour, but I’m no stranger to a burn and figured it couldn’t be too bad.

            Fifteen minutes into the drive I began moaning as my legs felt stiff and burned. I looked down to see my shin’s shiny and red. I’d never seen such a shine before. Now, this isn’t like a glow from the sun. Instead this shine was much like seeing a chicken leg you’d burned in the oven; the skin red and crispy to the touch. That is exactly what my legs looked like from just below the knee down. Somehow my ankles and feet escaped the burn as they were hidden in the water. I imagined touching the red skin, now forming blisters at the top. I thought it might have that crispy sound much like overdone chicken legs and couldn’t imagine slathering any type of ointment on it. I began to feel sick.

            My husband diverted our journey home to the nearest drug store where he found a first aid spray for burns. I watched my children’s eyes-now big and round as they peered over the back seat in anxious anticipation as my husband carefully sprayed the ointment on the burn. Tears streamed from my eyes as the burning and cooling sensations clashed and every nerve in my body seemed to tighten. My scalp had burned, my nose had burned, my arms were red, but I couldn’t feel the stinging of sunburn anywhere else but my now red blistered legs.

            Days later, I was walking as if my legs were in casts. I couldn’t bend my knees. In fact, my guilt-ridden family did all of the housework and errands for the next few weeks while I recouped. I think until that point, my family didn’t really believe I couldn’t go to the beech and frolic like they could. I think they thought I was trying to get out of driving down Los Angeles freeways. Now they know, they don’t call me Red for nothing.