The best part about these boys I grew up with

Full of clammy hands and half-eaten hotdogs offered out bitten end first

Is that they always made everything into an adventure.

It was always a grand expedition with these boys;

One did not simply go outside to play frisbee

Oh, no, you had to come up with new rules, new bases, a new game even

And nobody went to the kitchen for goldfish

No, you hunted down the best fish-shaped crunchy treats from older sister’s back pack with two standing guard just in case

The best part about these boys is that they made and outing out of anything, anything at all

And I miss that.

Because they don’t eat goldfish anymore.

The frisbee has long since been lost and forgotten along with the rules to the game

Along with the willingness to be recklessly happy

Along with sloppy smiles and real laughs

It’s all been lost. And I’m trying to find it again