It’s spring break this week. Doesn’t really mean much to me now as I have to work through it except that traffic is so much lighter; but I can remember just how great it was when I was in school.
March break was the identifier that winter was in fact coming to an end. The sun would shine, the temperature would rise ever so slightly and we’d find any excuse to get outside in a t-shirt. Ah, summer was finally on it’s way.

We were never a traveling family. Never once, as a child, did we leave the comfort of our house for a break down South in the sun as a family. My mom worked hard and wasn’t able to take us away for a vacation, which I completely understand now, but didn’t at the time.
I remember the jealousy when a friend would share their family plans for spring break. Why don’t we EVER do anything like that? I would think, and some times voices my selfish concerns to my mother. As if she didn’t have enough to worry about - like getting dinner on the table, or having a mortgage payment. As a self-indulgent teen, I would make her feel like whatever she did just wasn’t good enough because we weren’t lying on a beach somewhere. I was am such a bitch. I know.

Then my prayers were answered (and maybe my mom’s as well). Grade 9, a classmate whom I had been friends with since we were eight years old; inseparable at the time, invited my on her family trip to Florida for the March Break. I was in heaven! So excited that I would finally live the dream of March Break in the sandy beaches of Florida with friends and no family! A dream of a life time for a 15 year old.

Then, reality hit.

We drove down in her family’s mini van. Four adults (since her parents friends came along) and 3 teenage girls sharing the back bench of the van. Little to no room, and we’re drove straight through so that our week is not wasted just traveling. 23 hours trapped in a vehicle with her whole family and her parent’s friends. Torture. The shrills of laughter, the constant bickering between sisters, the whining and complaining (by all three of us). Good. Times.
Upon arrival we were so excited to get in our bathing suits and head to the beach. There was not a soul in sight as it was a mere 7C (45F) and near dusk. It was as though we were released from confinement and free to soak in the world. Alas! Freedom!

The week was dreary and cool for the most part, the last two days were the only ones we had sun and warmth. Because of that, we had to make up for lost time in the sun. It would be devastating to have to return to school without a suntan after our getaway. So, we opted to skip out on the suntan lotion and use straight baby oil. Hardcore, I know.

Had I realized the effects of baby oil in the sun, I may have deliberated a little longer before abstaining from the sun lotion. After about 4 hours, I think the first epidermal layer had bubbled and detached itself from the rest of my body. That thin layer was what remained between an oozing liquid and a fresh clean and yet painfully unprepared layer of skin awaiting exposure.

The good point. This was at the end of the trip.

The bad. I had to endure a 23 hour car ride, squished in the back of a minivan between feuding sisters also in a similar predicament as myself.

Bad part, part two. It was that trip I realized my inability to tan. I am fair skinned and do not tan. I burn and then turn back to white. All. That. Effort. For. Nothing.

Who says you have to go away for Spring Break to be popular? So overrated if you ask me.