As I was swimming laps at my town pool, with goggles on, I looked underwater and saw other swimmers' legs and arms mid-stroke, dangling, moving, submerged. This underwater image of extremities in motion evokes a mild dread, an eerie foreboding, a sense that something terrible is going to happen. I blame it all on the movie JAWS. Every last fear, anxiety or minor apprehension about the water: ocean, lakes, you name it. And as irrational as it is, the movie has even instilled a passing concern about swimming in chlorinated pools! I grew up swimming in my backyard canal, the bay, the ocean. Endless salt water surrounded my home, my life. The hours of a summer day were tracked by the ebb and flow of the tide. When I was 10, my dad, the fisherman, captain and boater, took me to see JAWS at a huge air-conditioned theatre in Massapequa, N.Y. It was a hot summer night and I brought along a ziploc bag of semi-stale pretzels from home. For the entire mo...