I guess most girls aren't particularly self-conscious during their formative years, particularly when they have no reason to cover up during hot weather. My sisters and I were used to playing under the sprinklers in the front yard, putting on quite the show for the neighborhood. Lydia was old enough to wear a two-piece bikini, but Tanya and just I ran around in nothing but our white cotton underpants. We were, of course, barely out of kindergarten, so we didn't see anything unusual in it at the time. Neither did anyone else, so far as I could tell.

Speaking for myself, I rarely bothered getting fully dressed at that time of year, because – let's be serious here – who in their right mind would? With daily temperatures reaching 32 degrees by nine in the morning, I was happy to simply lounge about in my full-cut knickers for the most part.

I recall some mornings walking down to the mailbox to pick up Dad's papers, oblivious to the exhibition I was putting on. There were always a few people up and about at that time of day, but nobody seemed to notice. It was a common enough sight back then; one which only the craziest of spinster aunts would possibly object to. Most girls were considered children until they entered middle school, and I hadn't even reached the fifth grade by that stage.

I didn't really develop a sense of modesty until much later. My folks never objected to my impromptu lingerie parades as they'd seen me half-naked my entire life; even if the neighbors came knocking it was no big deal. Sometimes, if Mom was busy in the kitchen, she'd tell me to answer the door, regardless of what I was wearing.

Our part of the country could get pretty sultry in late July, so whenever I was upstairs reading a magazine, I'd just lie on the bed in my undies with the radio playing, feet waving lazily in the air. Occasionally, my friends would call out to me from the street, and I'd go to the window to talk to them. The thought of covering up rarely crossed my mind, seeing as we'd all known each other since forever.

It made little difference if there happened to be boys around. So they saw us in our underwear, who cared? Wasn't much different to sunbathing in a two-piece swim suit, and some of us didn't even make that distinction.

I have very fond memories of the sleepy little suburb where I spent my childhood. There was a water fountain in the park downtown, one of those old Victorian deals surrounded by a ring of wrought iron benches. Lydia and I often went down to feed the pigeons and trade the usual gossip; it wasn't unusual to slip off our skirts or dresses if we decided to go wading in the pool. There were usually a few pensioners sitting around enjoying the sunshine, but again, no one seemed to mind; they'd seen it all before.

Those were such innocent days...

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