I learned to ski in a carnation pink helmet.
Some of my earliest memories are at Caberfae, with a ski leash on my back and a pink helmet on my head. That helmet stayed with me from my early days on the rickety double chair in Michigan to my first trip on the high-speed six-person chairs in Colorado. That helmet was the start of it all for me—the start of my winter memories.
My memories of carnation pink start with that helmet.
Carnation pink was my beginning and my current, and most certainly will be my end, with a touch of emptiness in between.
My favorite animal used to be a flamingo. I thought the otters and bears at the zoo were cool, but I could sit through the stench of the flamingoes forever. Maybe I liked them because my favorite color was pink, but nevertheless, I loved them. I wanted pet flamingoes. I wanted stuffed animal flamingoes. I wanted decor that was the same color as flamingoes: carnation pink.
The curtains in my room told a story. They were carnation pink with a lilac border and images of sunflowers, bees, butterflies, and watering cans. I used to make up stories about where the insects were flying to—who their friends were. The curtains would glow in the morning sun, keeping little to no light out but filling my blue room with a pink hue.
I dressed up as Aurora from Sleeping Beauty countless times when I was little. I’m fairly certain I wore it two Halloweens in a row. I wore it for fun, to Walmart, to Disneyworld, and anywhere else along the way. I loved seeing myself in carnation pink. I couldn’t have told you anything about the princess whose dress I was wearing besides her name, physical features, and that she knew three fairies. But I loved my carnation pink.
My brother and I are 5-and-a-half years apart in age, but that never stopped me from wanting to be like him. While I was dressing up as princesses, he had foam swords and shields. He’d whack me with them while I was left defenseless. Finally, I got my own: a carnation pink sword and shield that, of course, came with a matching foam crown. When I wasn’t wearing my princess dresses with their matching crowns, I wore the one to match my sword and shield. I wasn’t the same as my brother with my carnation pink, but it was exactly how I wanted to be.
I went through a phase when I didn’t like pink. I feel this is a common occurrence for most girls I know. It became “not cool” to like pink or to be a “girly girl.” So I wasn’t. My room still had carnation pink curtains, but I told everyone I didn’t like them. I stopped liking flamingoes. I got a new ski helmet—purple, not pink. I was too old to be dressing up as princesses. I didn’t need my crown, sword, or shield.
Eventually, I grew out of that.
Now, there are touches of pink everywhere. A carnation pink frame around a picture of my golf team. My backpack is lighter than carnation, but still pink. I wear a carnation pink hat in most golf tournaments. My ski racing gloves are carnation pink.
Carnation pink was my beginning and my current, and most certainly will be my end, with a touch of emptiness in between.
