One Mom's Revelation: Black is Beautiful but Skin Cancer Isn't
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See, what you have to understand is that neither of my parents really cared about the health risks of my playing out in the sun; sunburn, melanoma, wrinkles, heat rashes--none of these conditions concerned them a lick. No, their reasoning for keeping me out of the harmful rays was much more practical: "The sun," they insisted, "will make you black." And Lord knows, the last thing this little African American girl, whose family was integrating an all-white neighborhood in Long Island, wanted to do was be (gasp!) black. After all, light was all right, brown could stick around and black--well, as the little skin color ditty went, black had to get back. The message: Do what you gotta do to avoid getting darker. And if that meant avoiding pools/beaches/soccer fields/the great outdoors/any place where the sun could magically turn milk chocolate girls into Hershey's special dark chocolate, well, then that's how it was going to go down.
It wasn't until I got to college and read The Autobiography of Malcolm
X and joined an African sorority and got around some friends who
insisted that "the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice" that I
lifted my head toward the sky. We black folks have that good African
skin, my friends would tell me--the kind with melanin coursing through
the cells. Melanin was some magical elixir that would protect us from
the sun's harmful UV rays while allowing us to take in all the
chocolately goodness it had to offer.
From then on, every chance I got, I made a point of sitting in the sun; rebelliously, I basked in it. I mean, I would slather up in coconutty tanning grease and triple-dog-dare the sun to make me blacker than black--the poignant signature to my political stance that black is beautiful, baby. Skin cancer? Ha! Black people don't get it, I'd say loud and proud. In fact, the sun just made my skin prettier--got rid of the blemishes, gave me a glow. I couldn't wait to get out in it.
Then one day my husband and I decided to take our daughter to the beach for the first time. She was about 10 months old--couldn't walk yet. I thumbed through my baby books for clues as to what I should bring to protect my Mari. Moms are like that--foolish with their own health, but awesomely vigilant when it comes to guarding the health of their young. Blankets to protect her from the sand--check. Water to keep her hydrated--check. A hat to keep the sun out of her eyes and off her head--got it.
Sunblock to protect her skin from harmful UV rays.
I read over that one a couple times, and then consulted my special books--the ones written by black moms for black moms--and they confirmed what the mainstream books did: All babies needed to be protected from sun rays because all skin was susceptible to their harmful effects. All skin.
Suddenly, I didn't care what my parents had to say or what my friends' theories were or even what my personal thoughts were. Like any other mother, I wanted to make sure that my child was protected, healthy, and especially kept out of harm's way--in this case, away from the dangerous rays that could cause incurable skin diseases and cancers. Being light didn't matter and being chocolate didn't either. Healthy was the ticket.
We stopped at a drug store that day on the way to the beach to buy sunblock--a bottle for the baby, and one for us grown-ups. The sunning lotion? Yeah, that went in the trash. And when we stepped out onto the beach that day--and every day since then--we dipped our toes in the water and lifted our heads to the sky, kissed the sun, basked in the rays, thanked goodness for the melanin that made my family that beautiful brown, and then ordered up some of those cute chairs with the umbrellas on them so we could enjoy the beach in the shade, where it's safe.
Black is beautiful.
But health is best--for every color. -- By Denene Millner
Who is Denene Millner? I'm the "Real-Talk Mom" on our sister site, Momtourage. My blog, MyBrownBaby, is "dedicated to lifting the voices of African-American moms looking for the 411, advice and high-fives on everything from pregnancy and childrearing to sex, work and relationships." Follow me on Twitter. And see my other health posts on MyBrownBaby:
From then on, every chance I got, I made a point of sitting in the sun; rebelliously, I basked in it. I mean, I would slather up in coconutty tanning grease and triple-dog-dare the sun to make me blacker than black--the poignant signature to my political stance that black is beautiful, baby. Skin cancer? Ha! Black people don't get it, I'd say loud and proud. In fact, the sun just made my skin prettier--got rid of the blemishes, gave me a glow. I couldn't wait to get out in it.
Then one day my husband and I decided to take our daughter to the beach for the first time. She was about 10 months old--couldn't walk yet. I thumbed through my baby books for clues as to what I should bring to protect my Mari. Moms are like that--foolish with their own health, but awesomely vigilant when it comes to guarding the health of their young. Blankets to protect her from the sand--check. Water to keep her hydrated--check. A hat to keep the sun out of her eyes and off her head--got it.
Sunblock to protect her skin from harmful UV rays.
I read over that one a couple times, and then consulted my special books--the ones written by black moms for black moms--and they confirmed what the mainstream books did: All babies needed to be protected from sun rays because all skin was susceptible to their harmful effects. All skin.
Suddenly, I didn't care what my parents had to say or what my friends' theories were or even what my personal thoughts were. Like any other mother, I wanted to make sure that my child was protected, healthy, and especially kept out of harm's way--in this case, away from the dangerous rays that could cause incurable skin diseases and cancers. Being light didn't matter and being chocolate didn't either. Healthy was the ticket.
We stopped at a drug store that day on the way to the beach to buy sunblock--a bottle for the baby, and one for us grown-ups. The sunning lotion? Yeah, that went in the trash. And when we stepped out onto the beach that day--and every day since then--we dipped our toes in the water and lifted our heads to the sky, kissed the sun, basked in the rays, thanked goodness for the melanin that made my family that beautiful brown, and then ordered up some of those cute chairs with the umbrellas on them so we could enjoy the beach in the shade, where it's safe.
Black is beautiful.
But health is best--for every color. -- By Denene Millner
Who is Denene Millner? I'm the "Real-Talk Mom" on our sister site, Momtourage. My blog, MyBrownBaby, is "dedicated to lifting the voices of African-American moms looking for the 411, advice and high-fives on everything from pregnancy and childrearing to sex, work and relationships." Follow me on Twitter. And see my other health posts on MyBrownBaby:
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Even though I'm fair skinned and of European decent, I do think this is a good message that no one is exempt from the harmful rays of the sun. No one.
So I'm a caramel colored sister and I, too, wanted to be as light as possible in the 70s and early 80s. Got a clue about the importance of SPF coverage after several trips to the Caribbean in my 20s resulting in a couple of burns. Since then I've been slathered down daily on my face especially with Oil of Olay's SPF daily lotion. And I keep my child oiled up too.
Heard a crazy story recently from a friend's aunt, who spent a week with a friend in Mexico and both kept slathering vaseline on their lips. She & her literally fried their lips. Both were blistered up. I immediately checked my purse to see if the lip balm I was using had SPF coverage. And to my surprise and delight it was REI Sport Lip Balm SPF 30! Whoohoo! No fried lips for me.
Nice post. Keep it up. Thanks, jd
As a pediatrician who cares for primarily African American children, I've seen way too many children in my practice coming in with sunburn. Sunburn in childhood increases the risk of skin cancer for EVERYONE! Great post.