But my date with dermatological destiny was foretold by my ancestry and my age (that is, the age I grew up in). As a half-Irish, half-Norwegian, part-Scot, I’ve got as much skin pigment as the next ghost. Among my people, sun lamps are also known as “lamps.” I once got a nasty burn leafing through a National Geographic magazine. I remember a long two-hour drive home from Virginia Beach, car air conditioner blowing full power on my blistering face, as my parents maundered in a sing-songy Scandinavian brogue, “It’s our lot, boy! Best suffer it like the little blonde leprechaun you are.”

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