In the depth of my memory, many things I did with my father are still alive. He did 1 the water. Any kind of boat ride seemed to give him pleasure. 2 he loved to fish. But I never really liked being on the water. I liked being 3 the water, having it all around me. I was not a strong 4 , or one who learned to swim early, for I had my 5 . But I loved being in the swimming pool close to my father's office and 6 those summer days with my father, who 7 come by on a break. I needed him to see what I could do. My father would stand there in his suit, the 8 person not in swimsuit. After swimming, I would go 9 his office and sit in front of his big desk, where he let me 10 anything I found in his top desk drawer. Sometimes, if I was left alone at his desk 11 he was working in the lab, an assistant might come in and tell me perhaps I shouldn't be playing with his 12 . But my father always 13 and said easily, “Oh, no, it's fine.” Sometimes he handed me coins and told me to get 14 an ice cream... A poet once said, “We look at life once, in childhood; the rest is 15 .” And I think it is not only what we “look at once, in childhood” that determines our memories, but who, in that childhood, looks at us.