Me and melanin

I'm not sure why I put "and" in the title; the two are not combined. Really. Dear husband jokes that I sunburn if I stand too close to the microwave and he's not far off. I've burned badly enough to blister here in Michigan--forget the tropics. I laugh when I see whatever medications list "increased sensitivity to sunlight" as a side effect. You already need a stopwatch for me to show sunburn; does this mean I should just wear a burqa and be done with it?

Anyway. It seems our children have inherited my complexion. Even Rachel has a cute smattering of freckles over her cheeks and nose. It has become de rigueur to get sunblock on before going outside in the afternoon. Last summer, or maybe the year before, some had rubbed into Dale's eyes. That stuff burns worse than shampoo, Dear Reader. Tears don't rinse it out as easily, either, especially the waterproof kind.
As I was slathering "liquid shirt" on my older son Friday, he asked me, "Mom, why do black people have protection in their skin?" This question came from the page on skin from the human body book he'd had me read earlier.
"That's the way they're made, honey." I didn't get into geography or mention the fact that they can sunburn, too.
Sigh. "I wish I was black."

I'd settle for a tan, frankly.