One in a Million Shot

My son and I were out playing frisbee today in the front yard. He was very concerned about throwing it in the street and hitting a car. It reminded me of a childhood memory, so I told him about it.

When I was a kid, during the summers, my brother, cousin, and I would throw a frisbee around in the street in front of the house. There were a lot of cars going up and down the street, so we constantly had to stop and step aside until they’d passed. It was annoying to say the least.

At some point, my cousin JS said, “The next car that drives by with their window down, I’m going to try to throw the frisbee through their window and out the other side.” We all thought this was a sound plan, so my brother positioned himself on one side of the street and my cousin on the other, while kept lookout for cars.

It didn’t take long for a car to come rumbling down the street with its windows down. It was summer in Texas after all, and it was hot. My cousin got ready, lined up his shot, and timed his throw perfectly. The frisbee took off, flew straight in through the driver’s side window, floated across the car, and landed on the passenger seat. It was a one in a million shot. It didn’t fly out of the other side, but still. What we didn’t plan on was that the driver didn’t stop. He just drove on down the street with our frisbee on his seat. We had no idea if he didn’t see it or if he figured that was his reward for us using him as a firing range. But we never saw that frisbee again, and the summer got a whole lot more boring after that.