Frisbee® Steve (a true story)
In my pre-marriage, pre-kids days I hung out at Seattle’s Green Lake a lot. One day I was captivated by a small group of people sharing a spinning disc, sending it back and forth, each person attempting some nifty catch, throw, or trick before passing it onwards. Turns out they were practicing “freestyle Frisbee®.” In fact, this small, motley crew of guys and gals showed up at the same spot on the lake just about every summer afternoon, and usually attracted an appreciative crowd. As someone who virtually “minored” in more mundane forms of Frisbee® when I was in college, I was intrigued. Eventually my curiosity overcame my shyness and I joined them.
The leader of the crew was a fellow named “Steve,” a tanned, bearded fellow reminiscent of Robert Crumb’s Mr. Natural comic book character, and one of the mellowest and friendliest people I had ever met. On the occasions I showed up, Steve was happy to take me under his wing and teach me a few tricks. I actually became a decent freestyler. I was never great, but must admit it was fun playing a very small role in what was essentially a type of public performance art. Eventually, however, life happened: marriage, kids, etc., and pretty quickly I was a few houses and neighborhoods removed from my Green Lake stomping grounds. Steve and his crew became distant memories.
Fast forward more than three decades. I drop my daughter off for her saxophone lesson, and with some time to kill, decide to explore some back streets of Ballinger/Lake Forest Park, a rather pastoral Seattle suburb with which I’m not very familiar. I’m driving along a very quiet, rural road, and pass a lone walker. Something about his casual, unhurried gait caught my attention. And the beard – familiar looking, but with a lot of gray. Turning the car around, I pull alongside him and ask: “Steve?” He answers “Hey man, how’s it going?”
It was indeed Frisbee® Steve, and he remembered me after all these years. He was leisurely walking down this country road in the middle of nowhere, off to have a beer somewhere (it was about 2:30 in the afternoon!). Steve tells me he retired about ten years ago, and I ask, sure of his response, if he still threw the old Frisbee® around. To my great surprise, he answered “Oh yeah, every Wednesday and Friday afternoons, usual spot, down at the lake. You should come on down!”
I don’t get down to Green Lake too often anymore, so I asked Steve to connect on Facebook. Ooops, no Facebook account. How about a cell phone number? No cell phone either. But, he was “in the book,” if I wanted to look him up. My unexpected encounter with Steve had magically transported me back in time to a long gone, simpler world.
After a bit more conversation we said goodbye and wished each other well, knowing that our paths probably wouldn’t cross again. As I drove away to pick up my daughter, I thought about all the little detours, dead ends, and bunny trails that accumulate over a lifetime. Most linger, unresolved, in the fringes of consciousness until they fade away with the passage of time and the dimming of memory. It was nice to close the loop on this one.
Copyright 2019 L. Wechsler. All rights reserved.
Comment: WAIT!! Is that YOU in the picture? Surely could be, maybe a few years ago.