“You kids clear out,” said Dad. “But Lillie, if the children can do it, you, a
grown woman, should be able to. Come on now. You can’t help but float,
became the human body, when inflated with air, is lighter than water.”
“You know I always sink.”
'That was last year. Try it now. Be a sport. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You don’t want to show the white feather in front of all the kids.”
“I don’t care if I show the whole albatross,” Mother said. “But I don’t
suppose I’ll have another minute’s peace until I try it. So here goes. And
remember, I’m counting on you not to let anything happen to me.”
“You’ll float. Don’t worry.”
Mother took a deep breath, stretched herself out on the surface, and sank
like a stone. Dad waited a while, still convinced that under the laws of
physics she must ultimately rise. When she didn’t, he finally reached down
in disgust and fished her up. Mother was gagging, choking up water, and
furious.
“See what I mean?” she finally managed. Dad was furious, too. “Are you
sure you didn’t do that on purpose?” he asked her.
“Mercy, Maud,” Mother sputtered. “Mercy, mercy Maud. Do you think I
like it down there in Davey Jones’ locker?”
“Davey Jones’ locker,” scoffed Dad. “Why you weren’t even four feet
under water. You weren’t even in his attic.”
“Well, it seemed like his locker to me. And I’m never going down them
again. You ought to be convinced by now that Archimedes’ principle simply
doesn’t apply, so far as I am concerned.”
Coughing and blowing her nose, Mother started for the beach.
“I still don’t understand it,” Dad muttered. “She’s right. It completely
refutes Archimedes.”
There’s something about the duck sinking instead of floating that speaks to me on a subconscious level.
An excerpt from Cheaper by the Dozen:
It isn’t quite sinking it has a neutral buoyancy between the surface and the bottom.
I knew someone would call me out on this when I was typing it. I just knew it.