I am reading the NYT today, catching up on all my online links, and read a lovely article about writer’s summers, and it made me remember one of my most iconic summer memories.
We (my mom, my sister) spent summer (Christmas time) down in Sedgefield where my grandparents had retired too. I must have been 12 or 13, close to that, I still had one of the worst haircuts in the world, and looked like a boy, and we spent hours down at the mouth of the river, swimming, crabbing, looking for seashells, and just doing nothing. It was a magical time.
I remember leaving my grandparents house in the morning, and going to the river and floating down to the ocean, with the tide. But, mostly I remember the heat, the sun, the long walks, the endless food and fruit, and braais (bar-b-ques). We spent hours at the beach from early morning to late afternoon, and I don’t remember getting burnt, I do remember sunscreen and hats. But, my one of my most enduring memories, is that I still could get away with not wearing a top, I could just wear my bikini bottoms and not worry. I had no thoughts of why I should wear a top, I was still asexual as I could be at that age but, boys did not have to cover up and I did not understand why I should. And my great joy, is no one ever forced me. They knew it was innocent and I just wanted the freedom to swim, catch hermit crabs and play.
