Olga Mecking

Let me start with a confession: I am terrified of teenagers. I’m particularly petrified of having some of my own.

I have dyspraxia, which means that I’m terribly clumsy. Where other people fetch a glass without even paying the action any notice, I have to think consciously about stretching my arm; about calculating the force with which my fingers will encompass the object, or about the way I’ll have to hold it in order not to drop it. Everyone does it, of course. But not everyone does it consciously, the way I do.

All that to say, I’ve seen my share of naked bodies. I am glad that there are spaces where people can feel comfortable disrobing, and when we pass through such a beach, I find it normal. I simply have no desire to join them.