Ultimate Bonding (Personal Narrative Final Draft)

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           To a sleep deprived, early-morning-seminary student, Saturday mornings are sacred, especially when you have nine o’ clock church on Sunday.  So you can imagine my displeasure when I woke up one Saturday morning to my dad shaking my leg, saying, “Alright boys, it’s time to get up for Ultimate Frisbee.”

            To his surprise, my dad came back five minutes later to find his sixteen and thirteen year old sons still completely comatose.  “Seriously?  Come on you guys!  We’ve gotta go so I can set up the field!”  His voice seemed distant, like an echo in a dark cave.  I buried my face deeper in my soft pillowcase, deeply breathing in the smells of motherly love and Snuggie’s drier sheets. 

            I was about to dive into a fresh REM cycle when I felt something slowly wrapping around my ankle.  I recognized the rough, thick fabric as a Tae-Kwon-Do belt from my elementary school days.  As I tried to make sense of the sensation, the filing clerks of my memory retrieved an image of my younger brother tying my Tae-Kwon-Do belts together into a multicolored rope and trying to repel over the second story railing.  I visualized the knotted rainbow rope tied to my ankle, mentally followed it over the edge of the top bunk, across the floor, and right into –

            “GWAHHHH!” I yelled as the lower half of my body was ripped over the edge of my bed.  I scrambled back onto the mattress while my dad prepared for another tug. 

            “GUR!” my dad roared as he yanked again.  The wooden bunk bed creaked and tipped as I push against the safety board with all the strength in my free leg.  Heart pounding, mind racing, I grabbed the bright colored belts and pulled back.  My brother Joel woke up wide-eyed to watch the classic struggle between father and son unfolding in our bright blue, hero-themed bedroom.  From the other side of the room I could see the veins bulging in my dad’s meaty arms as he pulled on the belt-rope.  He leaned back toward the almost closed bathroom door, putting all his weight into the titanic tug of war.

            The bed creaked, my arms shook, and my whole bed was on the brink of collapse when suddenly, I let go of the rope.  With a yelp, my dad flew back, crashed through the open bathroom door, onto the cold tile floor.  Fuming, my dad stormed out of the room, and Joel and I went triumphantly back to sleep.

            “So how was Frisbee this morning?” I asked teasingly as my dad came home that morning. 

            “I don’t want to talk about it,” he replied.  I hoped my teasing would provoke some witty banter, or some acknowledgement of my morning glory.  My triumphant smirk faded, however, as I found sadness in his eyes, instead of the playful fire.

            The rest of the week went normally, which meant I didn’t see my dad very much.  I was sitting in seminary before the sun was even up, and most nights dad had bishop business after work, so I caught glimpses of him at dinnertime every once and a while.  The next Saturday I was shaken awake again.  I turned over ready to remind my dad of last week’s victory, but paused when I saw a glimmer of hope in his dark brown eyes.

            Reluctantly, I crawled out of bed and went with him to the field.  It was a gloriously miserable game of Frisbee.  Our socks and cleats were heavy with cold winter rain.  The slick mud made for beautiful sliding and diving catches, and rewarded the players with wet, muddy badges of honor for their heroic plays. As the game went on our hands grew stiff and unresponsive when we tried to close our fingers around the Frisbee.  After a while, the wind came and officially ended the game. 

            Soaked and shivering, my dad and I ran to the Jacuzzi at the community pool.  Entering the hot water felt like wadding into a pool of hot needles as our freezing skin came back to life.  As the steam rose around us, my dad and I reflected on the game.  We laughed as we relived some of the exceptional throws and critical catches.  Conversation gradually turned to school, seminary, and life in general. 

We knew it was time to go when our fingertips began to wrinkle like raisins.  Before we left my dad stopped me.  The mood became more serious, and instantly I thought I was in trouble.  On the contrary, my dad looked at me with eyes full of love and said, “I was thinking this week about things that I’m grateful for, and you were up there at the top of my list.  So I just wanted to let you know that, and say thank you for being such a great son.”

“Thanks dad!” I replied as we climbed out, dried off, and headed home.

            The rest of the week went normally, which meant I didn’t see my dad very much.  We both kept busy, and before I knew it, it was Friday night again.  Glancing at the Superman clock on my bookshelf, I hurried through nightly routine with superhuman speed.  Teeth brushed, pajamas on, I stepped around a pile of clothes, over the multicolored belt rope, and jumped in bed.  My pillowcase was soft and cool.  The bright red covers of my bed were comfy and inviting, but before I got too comfortable, I made sure to set an alarm for Saturday morning Frisbee with dad.