For today, you get to read an embarrassing story featuring....ME! It was circa 1993 or so. I was swimming at my friend Katie Mill's pool. It was a perfectly sunny day in Las Vegas. Hot enough to fry an egg and then some. I have never been a great swimmer. I have never been a good swimmer. In short, I was very insecure about my swimming abilities. Everyone was diving into the pool with ease and grace. I swam around in the water, then decided I would attempt the dive. I came to the side of the pool. I tried once. I failed. I was too afraid to let my arms be my guide. I tried again. I was determined. I held my arms above my head, prepared to dive in head first and imagined a graceful dolphinesque dive. Slicing through the water with beauty and poise. Instead, I pulled my arms in at the last second and smacked my head on the bottom of the pool with a resounding thud. I can still feel that pain. The pain of my head and the pain of my ego. I came to the surface and I am not sure anybody saw, but I felt like the whole world did. I felt the pain of adolescence. The awkward feelings of failure and attempting again and still another failure. I never attempted to dive again. I am now 33 years old. I can swim well. I have taught my kids to swim. I have swum in the ocean and lakes and deep water, in which I didn't know the depths. But I have never tried to dive again. I think this summer, I will have my daughter Hailey teach me. She is 9 and has the confidence of an Olympic swimmer. She can do every stroke with ease and seemingly no effort. I will sidle up next to her on a sunny day and she will help me through my fear. I am sure my first attempt will be a kneeling attempt, just as the teach the little kids. But sometimes it takes the instruction meant for children to get adults over their fears. And I am ok with that.