FRISBEE!

We live in an age of untold technological possibility. Smartphones, tablets, non-NASA space flights, nanotechnology and CGI laden films are all examples of our headlong plummet into the fabulous future.
And yet, for me the epitome of supercool is not the prequel of the latest sci-fi action comic book come-to-life or micro robots mending your clogged heart (although, dang it all, they are so cool). For me it is a simple disc-shaped piece of plastic that one can throw, watch it sail and then, when your friend has deftly plucked it from the air, have it sent back to you the same way.
I love the Frisbee! Yes, it is incredibly neat-o and you would never have to tell me twice about it.
One of my first memories is of my brother’s sky-blue flying disc, embossed with a gold world map, produced by Wham-O! It hurt when it hit, for alas, I was too little and my gross motor functions were too limited to, as yet, do anything short of run and cry when it hit me. However, when he and his friend would chuck that gloriously elegant piece of blue plastic back and forth for interminable hours, my little eyes did not fail to grasp the intensity of wowistic awesomeness my oatmeal-like brain could not yet conjure the words to describe.
That said, those memories dug themselves into the fibers of my existence. As I grew, I learned that I had a natural propensity for disc throwing. I even managed to figure a way to throw to myself, when no one else was near.
Lee, my best pal from schooI and I used to throw frisbee all the time. We would bring one and throw it around everywhere we went. I think we even brought one to an outdoor wedding once. It is perhaps one of the more entertaining and intensely fun things to do in the whole universe. A fact that we discovered quickly and indeed thrived upon.
The philosophical truth is, there is great Zenism to be found in disc throwing. The physical perfection of the throw, the energy to run and catch, the wonderful mesmerizing flight of a small circular object all seem somehow universally appropriate if not entirely necessary to mental calmness and emotional health.
However, frisbee throwing fell by the wayside as it became necessary to tuck in to grown up endeavors. Work and familial responsibilities would begin to preclude that sort of fun, and my friend the flying disc was, for a long time, forgotten.
Then, one wintry day on the hiking trail, my very good Grown Up Friend (let’s call him Herm) and I shared our similar frisbee stories, and when we realized our common history with the Pluto Platter, we would always finish our conversation with “We gotta get one.”
Months passed and the subject would come up again and again, followed by more grown up activities which wiped away any such frivolous enterprise. Yet, something moved me this spring. Something primal and deep and, incidentally fundamental to my makeup, drove me to look for and find the perfect disc. I was at last successful and I brought it home.
The perfectly round, perfectly red frisbee seemed (the way a fuzzy, nuzzlingly sweet puppy might seem to some families) destined to come home with us.
Later that same weekend, after a text with the good news, me and Herm got together and we along with our wives went down to Bicentennial Park (perfect for frisbee throwing, by the way) and spent the next hour-and-a-half zinging the bright red disc around.
We were both a little surprised at how we had grown out of shape for the activity but after a few minutes to recall our former frisbee glory, we were slinging the disc with vigor and joy.
Since then, he’s ordered one that will gleam brightly in the dark, in case we don’t want to stop just because the sun has gone down. No fun activity should ever cease due to a lack of light, after all.
But in the meantime I love hurling that pleasant piece of plastic! I am so glad that I was born in the mystical time of the magical flying disc. And I am so glad that I have a disc-throwing pal to share it with!