Sink or Float is a simple game best played with young kids. I prefer playing it riverside or alongshore but it can be played in a bucket, a bowl, sink, or tub (skip the toilet). Just add water. Players gather up things; twigs, bits of asphalt, younger siblings to toss in the water. The object of the game is to guess whether each bit of stuff will sink or float. Stones can skip but then they sink. It’s an easy game unless you are new to the world, as children are, and the laws of gravity aren’t obvious. There are a lot of surprises in the realm of sinking and floating stuff.
And then there is hope. It can’t be seen on shore or picked up to toss in a pond, but it is real. Hope, by its nature, floats like boats are built to do. There has been a lot of fuss during this pandemic over the question of whether or not we are all in the same boat. The answer is, no. First, the loosest of social gathering policies sets 10 as the top limit for touchable togetherness. Second, unless you’re escaping Cuba, a crew that big needs a decent size boat and a captain with a hefty wallet. This means an awful lot of people, and many who can’t swim, are struggling to stay afloat.
Anyone who has ever simply messed about in boats holds tightly to the notion that it’s better to float than to sink. Charles Dickens wrote that while hope may well float, it’s like a buoy that can’t be steered. You must keep wishing you’ll stay afloat while knowing that the wind and current may or may not bring you to where you want to be.
Unlike the game of Sink or Float, where science wins, wishing on a star and hoping for the best, is proof that our inner child still holds fast to the belief that life doesn’t play fair. That little kid who stays down deep within our aging bodies knows for sure that hope floats and wishes come true. In fact, they are as real as dreams and strong as boats that sail the seas. Hope floats because we believe it floats. Disbelief sinks our spirts to deep despair.
I’d rather have faith in hope than to swallow the anchor. To do the later would mean giving up the sea and retiring to a landlocked boat-less life. I’m using hope to keep my head above these turbulent seas where getting splashed can sink me to the bottom. So, if you come to our dock and ask for permission to come aboard, unless you’re willing to mask up and keep a safe distance, don’t be offended if we shake our heads but not your hands and sail off alone. I’m hoping that this talisman will protect you, me, and all we love until the tide changes and we cruise safer waters together.