

I knew I was finally an Aussie when I no longer coveted a tan.
My little rag-tag family were on holiday in the most beautiful place in the universe – also known as Lord Howe Island – rockpool-hopping at the end of a horseshoe beach that’s home to gliding turtles and nesting sooty terns and water so clear it would make you weep, when we saw them.
A family just like ours, two tired-looking parents, two kids in permanent bounce. They were the only other people on the beach (again, Lord Howe Island), and we greeted each other from a distance with knowing nods.
“They must be English,” I said to Brent, my partner. “Maybe German. They’re not Aussies.”
“What are you talking about?” He asked, distracted by trying to stop five-year-old Billy from impaling himself on a bed of oyster shells. “How could you possibly tell from here?”
“Their tans.”
It was true. It was a blazing day, and the mystery family were uncovered and burning up. Speedos and bikinis and flip-flops, oh my.
My little Aussie kids? Rashies and sunscreen and hats. Sunglasses and covered rock-hopper shoes. A bag full of cover-ups and sunscreen – SunSense Junior SPF 50+ is two hours’ water-resistant so it’s never left behind on days like these.
Watching my daughter’s legs slowly morph in shade from chalk to almond as our week progressed made me a little nervous. We are bred to be sun safe in Australia. We are taught to respect that unforgiving glare. My daughter doesn’t covet a suntan, and wants a hat with a brim (see the photo below!).