arizona 1:3

At lunch near the Gila River, I offered the kids an old frisbie to play with. They battled for it instead, as if it were a golden saucer not a toy. Throw it back and forth, I wanted to tell them, but I figured they must know what a frisbie was for. They were not my kids, but even if they'd never seen one at any of their homes, they must know deep in their hearts to throw it. Of course, they knew, and once Jill had established her elder's dominance over her brother, they wandered to the river's edge to play catch. Back up, waved Jill, keep going, until Jack was forty-yards up the shoreline, then Jill flung the disk first up away from the river then banking down again, splashing in the muddy center of the channel. Both kids stared at it as it drifted past, then swung around to look at me, looking back at them. I shrugged, not sure what lesson I'd attempt to impart even if they were my kids. Jack said we could get it back, although it might involve scuba equipment and a raft. I assured him I didn't care that much.

move on...