No More Charred Children
I’m no medical expert, but when I see sunscreen containers plastered with labels that read, SPF 80, 90 or 100, my eyeballs get a workout, rolling to the depths of their sockets. I grew up in Hawaii in an age when sunscreen was packaged as beach umbrellas and large palm fronds. Consequently, I have learned the hard (and expensive) way that there is a time and place for sunscreen, even when you live near the Frozen Tundra. Basically, I got scorched as a kid enough times to warrant biopsies and several crash courses in sun protection from trained medical professionals. … Continue reading