It’s not just the recreation and diversion that you have contributed to . . . it’s the people that you remind me of. Matt and Levi and Mark and Bret and Ben spring to mind right away, and so many more.
Years ago, I actually listed “Frisbee” as my 3rd of 4th favorite sport, and I was a little embarrassed (sorry), but the fact is, I love the beauty of the way you fly. The long flights that seemed to be carried on a jet stream across the field at Camp Manatawny . . . the short, curving flights that still land just right in the intended hands . . . the artful, intentional skippings off the pavement . . . the around-the-back curves . . . I’ve loved them all. I loved the challenge of catching you around my back or under the legs. I loved the running catches and also reveled in getting you to my man without his having to move. Oh, and I loved playing Ultimate at the August retreat site. All fun.
You were special, being a little heavier than most other Frisbees around, and you flew better and farther. No one quite understood when borrowing you why I was so particular that you had to be taken care of and returned to me pronto, or why one night I looked and looked for you until I found you alone in the field when someone forgot. You were the best Frisbee, and you had played a role in some special times.
Some of the relationships you represent are still real and present for me, and some have long since faded. You represent good parts of the good relationships.
Today, as I took you out and put you in the trunk along with some other stuff, I still had this faint memory of your uniqueness, your having served so many purposes in so many places. You almost seemed to help bonds form. Somehow, at least for the guys, tossing a Frisbee around contributed to camaraderie, and sometimes, to deep conversation. You helped some of us grow closer. I’ve remembered this reality, in general terms, whenever I saw you or tossed you around—like today when I took you to a gathering of our little Christian community. Several of us enjoyed playing with you today—a couple of us older guys, and three younger ones.
It’s almost poetic that you bit the dust today when my son was playing with you. He had no idea that you are more than three times older than he is. It wasn’t his fault. No, it was just your time to go. You are old (in Frisbee years), and your skeletal structure was brittle, and you have served well. Thanks for the good times. Now it’s time for me to put you to sleep, but not before remembering the good times for which you were present for the past quarter-century. Yes, I’m going to miss you, and I miss those times, too.