Memories of Frisbee on the Playround at Greenacres Elementary School
Ah, those golden afternoons—how they stretched on forever, or so it seemed.
I remember the way the grass felt beneath my sneakers, the scent of damp earth rising up whenever we stumbled or dove for a catch. The school playground, flat and inviting, belonged to us. Just two boys and a battered white Frisbee, scuffed along the edges from hours of play.
We were always in sync, you and I. You had a way of launching the Frisbee so smoothly, so precisely, that it hung in the air like it was reluctant to fall. I'd sprint, arms outstretched, tracking its lazy arc against the sky, feeling the wind rush past my ears. Then—snap—the plastic would meet my fingertips, a perfect catch. And you'd cheer like I'd just won some great victory, even though we both knew it wasn't about winning. It was about the rhythm, the dance of it, the joy of motion.
We played as the sun slid lower, the sky deepening from gold to orange to dusky violet. The light dimmed, and our laughter turned breathless with the cold. My fingers stiffened, numbed from gripping the plastic disc, but I never said a word about it. Neither did you. We both knew that the moment we stopped, the spell would break.
I remember that last throw. You sent it high—too high, really—but the wind caught it just right, carrying it toward me in a slow, spiraling descent. By then, I could barely see it. The sky had turned to ink, the outlines of the trees fading into shadow. But I ran anyway, ran on instinct, trusting my hands to find the Frisbee in the dark.
And I did. Barely.
We stood there for a moment, panting, grinning at each other in the dim light, as if to say, Well, that's it. We did it. We held onto the day as long as we could.
Then, at last, we trudged home, our shoulders hunched against the creeping chill. The Frisbee dangled from my hand, heavier now, as if it too was tired.
Funny how a simple game could feel like something sacred.
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"Wisdom begins with wonder." - Socrates
"Learning happens thru gentleness."
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