My memories of the summer of 1976 are bright, fresh mornings, spending time by myself, enjoying the hot sun.

Maybe it was the feeling of being free from school and having time to myself to do what I want. Sometimes it was just the good feeling of being clean, a slight breeze in my hair, and the warmth of the sun on my face. I would just ride my purple banana seat bike bike for blocks around my neighbourhood, feeling the smoothness of the ride and the wind in my hair, and listening to the hum of my tires on the pavement. Maybe it was just the freedom from being on my own, away from others.

Some mornings, I’d jog six blocks to the outdoor pool at Central Park, and swim and suntan for hours, alternating between the coldness of swimming underwater, and the heat of drying out on the concrete deck, under the hot sun. I’d walk home later feeling physically spent but refreshed and renewed, squinting and trying to rub the fog of chlorine out of my eyes.