The Sun and the Beach

There’s an old joke about a man who said that he thought his wife wanted to move to Florida because she was always referring to the sun and the beach (I’ll give you a minute to let that sink in).

I love vacations.

I love looking at the ocean.

I hate the sun and the beach.

You see, I’m very pale. In fact, I’m almost clear. So when it comes to the sun, I’m not a candidate for bronzebeachbody.com. During the summer months, I cover myself with SPF 1450 to avoid burning to avoid getting skin cancer to avoid dying to avoid missing all the fun I’ll have as a pale old man.

I was born with pasty skin for a reason and I don’t mess with what God gave me. That includes my bald head, my crows feet, and my stunning physique. But clearly I’m in the sunbathing minority as evidenced by the throngs of people who flock to the beach to get that “healthy glow” before going back to work, school or their pale neighbors.

Ironically, I used to act that way too. Back in my late 20’s, I went to Hawaii with some friends. I refused to use sunblock because it “felt nasty” on my skin. As a result, I got eighth-degree burns on my shoulders, which blistered, then peeled, and then burned again. The second burn was practically on the muscle. This, unexpectedly, “felt nasty” too and I’m sure it will come back to haunt me one day in the form of a suspicious spot or a big hairy mole. I regret my stupidity back then but that’s water under the bridge or sun over the horizon as it were.

Today, I protect myself from the sun by seeking shelter, industrial strength sun block, or by avoiding the beach altogether. It’s easiest to do the latter. I would love to maintain my paleness at home while everyone else goes darkening. But have you ever noticed the reaction you get if you say that you don’t like the beach? It’s akin to making fun of Mother Theresa. It’s just not acceptable. So, my anti-beachedness has turned me into a summer party pooper, a vacation wet blanket, and the outcast of my family.

Ironically, I married into a sand-salt-and-sun-addicted family. My wife’s uncle is the color of a dark mahogany desk and her parents worship the ocean. I think they’d live in a small lean-to on the beach if it was equipped with cable and a Wegman’s nearby. But I, the tide averse mountain man that I am, prefer admiring the beach from a distance either on television or in the comfort of an air-conditioned beach house with large windows and an anti-sand detection system.

I’m not fond of sitting undressed on hot abrasive pre-glass while being baked from the outside in a 450-degree solar broiler. For one, no matter how much sun block I put on, the one place I’ll inevitably miss is the spot where a strap, a button, or an elastic band comes in contact with my skin. Second, sand can actually move on its own to find obscure places on and in your body. I’ve found sand in places my doctor didn’t even know about. And lastly, in the spirit of full disclosure, there are too many women at the beach dressed in bathing suits that cover less skin than their underwear. While this might be a plus to most men, it’s not a good thing for a 50-year-old husband who’s been married for 25 years. I just don’t need that kind of distraction.

So, my approach to beach vacations is to find excuses for why I can’t sit in a sand oven all day. Early in the vacation, I’ll use the I-had-a-conference-call-that-went-over technique. As the week goes on, I’ll explain that my feet are starting to turn red so I need to make sure I don’t over-expose them. By the way, a bit of smudged, evenly spread red lipstick is all the evidence you need for this excuse. And if neither of those work, I’ll just explain that I have diarrhea. Diarrhea, by the way, is the universal excuse that will give you a free pass from anything you want to avoid.

The older I get, the less guilty I feel about my shore shunning. I’ve learned to live with the shocked looks, the eye rolling, and the snickers. In fact, I’ve become accustomed to just about anything, especially hearing my name mentioned in the same breath as... well... that sun and a beach.