I see you, kid.
Forced to spend a summer of your twelfth year with your father, a guy you just met a year ago, hours away from the only place you’ve ever called home.
And this guy, your dad-in-name-only, wasn’t any richer than your mom, was he? Nope. So, you weren’t living it up in Bel Air or anything like that; you were doing the same broke summer shit you’d always done, except now you’re alone. Again.
You’d moved from place to place no less than four times before the age of ten and making friends wasn’t getting any easier.
I see you, kid. The field of grass you’re standing on is starting to turn brown and there’s a cool breeze in the air. You don’t have any fancy toys, not that you ever did. You’re in that field with a frisbee. A flying disc that if you fling it a certain way, it could sail through the air the length of a football field. Or so the story goes.
Sure, you could try to get your frisbee to float 100 yards…if there were someone there to fling it back to you.
Frisbees are great for groups of 2 to infinity. For gatherings of lesser than 2, less so.
You, intuitive guy that you aren’t, figured that if you fling a frisbee another certain way, you can get it to come back to you, in a sort of boomerang effect except that’s not what boomerangs do nor is it what they were designed to do but the point is it would come back to you.
Basically what you’re doing is cutting the air at an angle so that the wind catches it and once gravity kicks in, it blows the disc back to you. Kinda like if you were to throw it straight up and there was no wind.
Besides the quite wrong fact that you had just invented a new way of playing solo frisbee, there wasn’t anything interesting or fun about what you were doing. It’s surprising that it took two jammed fingers and a couple of near-decapitations for you to finally say “screw it” and go back inside and read comic books.
I see you, kid.