I wrote about becoming a disc golf widow. Douglas plays nearly every day, either on his way to work or coming home from work, according to the hours he is scheduled to work. On his days off, I have started going with him, deciding that I need the exercise of walking the course and just liking to be in his company.
Last Wednesday, he asked if I wanted to throw the disc. The Frisbee I remembered was more gossamer-like, thin and easily thrown. But, for disc golf, they have become heavier or more aerodynamically versatile. When in the hands of a master disc golfer, they jet out over the trees, landing impossibly close to the “hole.”
I started throwing with a blue number that Douglas thought was suitable for my small hands. He thought that I was teachable, so he gave me some pointers on how to hold the disc and how to throw it. Well, I turned a Par 3 hole a Par 20, having to throw ten times more than Douglas. Thankfully, no other disc golfers were behind us and made to wait.
After the second hole, I chose to just walk along and read my Kindle as Douglas played by himself. But, it was not a lost afternoon. Watching Douglas throw is sometimes hilarious.
I am so glad that the discs don’t have sharp edges, or Douglas would have already chopped down nearly every tree in the park. The sound of a disc on tree bark allowed me to find him, when I hung back on a juicy part of a story and he went on ahead.
But, the greatest fun for my funny bone was when he landed in the pond on the third hole. I finally understood why his pants are so muddy on laundry days. He goes into the pond to retrieve his discs!
The water is so dirty that you cannot see the bottom at all. He takes a long stick and tries to locate the disc. When that fails, in he goes. I just get in more steps on the step-counter while he is in there, because asking him not to go into the water is a waste of my breath. I fully expect him to find a corpse in there one of these days!
He goes in for one disc, and he comes out with four or five more! It seems many of the golfers end up in the pond, but they have the good sense not to go in the pond after them.
Being the kind of good guy that he is, if the discs have names and numbers on them, Douglas will text the person to inform them that he found their discs. if there are no names, then he posts the finds on the Facebook page of the local disc golf association. It fascinates me to know that men love these things so much that they actually come to our house to get them back, except, understandably, the guy in Minnesota!
Douglas loves the game, and although the younger fellows can send those discs sailing farther than he can, he is in hog heaven when he is on the course. Walking with him, I encourage him when he has a great throw, saying, “Great throw, babe!”
He beams, making the time worth it. I realized that I don’t have to sit home when he plays, I can go with him, get my day’s worth of fun and laughter, and be a supportive wife, as required in Ephesians 5:22 (MSG ): Wives, understand and support your husbands in ways that show your support for Christ. “