When I was young at Lake Erie, I would shove my toes into the dry warm sand, wash off in the freezing cold water and try tanning in the burning hot sun. I absolutely adored squishing the wet sand in between the cracks of my toes, and I still do. I would swim in the lake as if I was a little fish, build sand castles like an architect, and dive from platforms like Tom Daley.

When I was young at Lake Erie, I’d chase the seagulls eating my food. They would kick and peck at each other while trying to get one of my Ruffles, like their life depended on it. I loved eating crunchy chips, mouth-watering candies and scratchy hotdogs. I would play frisbee with my parents, yet not being able to even throw it. I would also dig through and jump into sand pits.

When I was young at Lake Erie, I would imagine that I was an explorer searching for Atlantis and Nemo looking for Marlin and Dory. I’d struggle to leave the water as the waves pulled me in, chucked me out and knocked me over when I tried getting to shore. So I’d hop back into the water, push through the current, and float away.

Down by Lake Erie, I’d be able to swim in the water and just be a joyful, cheerful and carefree kid, completely clueless on what was going on around me. My parents might’ve said we had to leave, but I didn’t want to. All I wanted to do, with all my leisure time, was to swim in Lake Erie.