Growing up by the ocean
I grew up by the ocean, which meant I was basically part fish—swimming every chance I got, collecting shells like some deranged magpie, and attempting to surf with all the grace of a flailing octopus. The ocean was forgiving. My surfboard was not.Every summer, my mum and I had a competition: who could get the best tan. A truly responsible mother-daughter bonding activity, if you ignored the looming threat of melanoma. We stretched out like sun-drunk lizards, determined to out-brown each other. Luckily, my grandma had a less death-wish-oriented approach to summer. She swooped in with bottles of sunscreen and a no-nonsense glare. Slip, slop, slap, sleek, slide, she’d chant, slathering me in SPF 50 like I was a particularly delicate cake.
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