I am part of an immigrant family to the US. I was two when we went to Canada from Germany.
As a child I had a compulsion to leap into water--any water. On the boat crossing the Atlantic my mom had to keep me on a leash to stop me from jumping overboard. Apparently, I thought the ocean was just a sort of big bathtub.
When I was three we moved south from Sault St. Marie to Windsor. The Detroit River separated the US from Canada and, the family story has it, that one Sunday my mom asked a family friend (another German immigrant who owned one suit) to take me to the river front for fresh air. At some point I escaped Leo's hands and raced to the river and jumped in. Leo jumped in behind me and saved my life. He ruined his suit in the process. He was so upset about ruining his suit that he would have nothing to do with me after that. I don't blame him; he was unemployed at the time and in 1959 you simply didn't find work dressed in casual clothes. It didn't matter what sort of job you tried for. No suit, no job. Particularly for an immigrant and--at that time--a German one at that.
Years later, when I was about seven, we became friends again.