I grew up swimming in lakes in northwestern Wisconsin. Now, don’t take that the wrong way. I’m not bragging about how well I can swim. I was no humanoid Northern Pike, as comfortable in the water as I am on land. No, I was just as freaked out by the stray strand of seaweed as the next Ocean Pacific swim trunks-wearin’ kid. What I mean to say is that most of my childhood swimming was done in lakes. Oh, sure, I had swimming lessons down at DeLong Middle School, and my sister and I made good use of their open swim program. But mostly I got wet in the lakes up around my family’s little cabin near Webster, Wisconsin.

We’d drive up north on a Friday evening, unpack the car, and after enough begging/pleading/crying, my dad would take us down to the beach at Devil’s Lake. The sun would be setting on one side of the sky, turning it all purple, and it felt like we had the whole lake to ourselves. We were always amazed at how warm the water was, not shockingly cold like when the sun was out. I remember my dad throwing us up over his shoulders, so we’d land behind him in a huge splash of arms and legs.

I used to love it. I used to love swimming up there, and anywhere, really. All kids do.

And then, like an advanced robot designed by the military and accidentally struck by lightning, I became self aware. I started comparing myself to other people. I started disliking things about myself and getting embarrassed about how I looked. See, if the characters in The Goonies represent the different stereotypes of American youth, I was most definitely Chunk. And I knew it. Because something had changed.

If there’s one thing being a dad has taught me, it’s that the human brain is one crazy-ass contraption. Little kid brains exist in some sort of wonder-world where they’re basically sensory beings, exploring and reacting to what’s around them, finding sheer amazement in the things of this world that are honestly, purely amazing. For a time, they just experience.

I think most people would agree that the loss of this world is a major tragedy in the relentless, ready-or-not process of growing up. Maybe the major tragedy. I’m in no hurry to see that happen to my own kids, and my family has actively tried to reverse it when our kids stumble too far into reality (which bites). But such is life.

I’m not sure exactly when my own wonder-world started to fade away, but it pretty much coincided with me wanting to swim with a t-shirt on.

See, while swimming at the public beaches up north, I had a few run-ins with local kids. I’d be swimming with my cousins and some stupid high schooler would make some stupid comment to his friends. They’d snicker and I’d turn red. It probably only happened a couple of times, but it left me feeling pretty self-conscious, and the idea of swimming started to produce feelings of dread. And fantasies of kicking certain nameless older kids right in the nards.

Luckily, I came up with a silver bullet solution: the humble t-shirt. Seriously, why not just wear a shirt while swimming? Yep, genius.

Now, Adult Me is capable of seeing the flaws in this plan. I’m sure my parents tried a number of ways to gently steer me away from wearing a turquoise t-shirt (with a single breast pocket) into the local public swimming pool, but my mind was made up. I was still at an age when “logic” and “foresight” were just silly words on television shows that didn’t star the General Lee.

I realized later that, while the occasional northwoods hick thinks chubby kids at the beach are pretty funny, everyone thinks chubby kids swimming around fully clothed is just plain weird. Eventually, I started feeling self-conscious again, and I went swimming less and less. And rarely in public.

Why am I telling you all this? Hell, I don’t know. It’s just something that really sticks out to me, and I’m assuming it wasn’t a terribly unique experience.

At any rate, all you self-conscious, shirt-wearing swimmers out there can know this: You are not alone. I, too, have stood by the edge of the water, wondering what to do with all those weird feelings, wishing I could just dive in without having to deal with what other people do or say. We’re all on the same team, people – Team T-Shirt – and we are who we are.

And to be honest, that little breast pocket comes in handy when you need a place to keep your goggles.