One of the first columns I wrote and published was about teaching my friend Jernae to swim at the Emeryville Public Pool. I described how I was the only adult in the water, and how children surrounded me, wrapped their skinny arms around my neck and hollered at me to watch them as they did multiple cannonballs in my face. Most of the kids did not know how to swim and were therefore relegated to the shallow end of the pool. The deep end was empty, serene, and placid; the three-foot section was crowded, wild and noisy. Within the middle of this storm I attempted to instruct Jernae on the finer points of the doggie paddle.
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