Fifth grade. The entire school was seated in row on row of orange plastic chairs -- chairs we had each toted to the auditorium and would take back to class with us. I was wearing shorts, sitting a couple seats away from Bryndi.
Bryndi noticed I was wearing shorts. Several minutes into Principal Argyle's presentation, she leaned over the kids separating us, raised both eyebrows and told me, "You're legs are white!"
Me, "So?"
"So, your legs are the whitest I've ever seen!" Laughing. "Do you ever go outside?"
That was the moment I realized that having white legs could be a shameful thing.
I was always climbing trees, shooting baskets, playing kickball, and running around the field behind our house building things out of dirt with Anna and Bub. Yet somehow, even with all that outdoor-time, my legs never got much color. They still don't.
Yesterday my dad got another biopsy. Skin cancer yet again.
Times like these, I'm more than happy to keep my pasty legs just the way they are.
2 comments:
some people just don't get darker.
SOOOO sorry to hear about your dad. Is the prognosis good?
So far so good. He goes in for another check-up in a week just to make sure. I just think it's crazy how people used to give me such a hard time for being white. It's just the way I am. The only time my legs were ever tan was when I was on the tennis team as a senior in high school. So . . . yeah . . . it takes a lot of time in the sun, which isn't necessarily good for the rest of my skin.
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