One of the games my kids play in the summer time is frisbee golf. I've never played the game myself, but as far as I can see, frisbee golf involves a bunch of teenagers winging frisbees at a target and then cheering when they hit it. They move around the yard in a gang, frisbees in hand, and they call the targets holes, perhaps to justify the name of the game since the targets are almost always trees and certainly not holes.
It's good to know when a game is in progress because walking out the back door can be dangerous.
Sometimes I'll be sitting peacefully on the couch, and I'll hear a serious of thuds as frisbees collide against the house, coming dangerously close to the glass windows behind me. "How can their aim be so bad that they are hitting the house?" I used to wonder. But often I was too caught up in the book I was reading to bother to check out the situation. It was easier to just keep my fingers crossed. One of my extras once put a golf ball through the sliding glass door, and you'd think I would have learned from experience, but hot weather makes my brain mushy.
Finally one time, after hearing repeated thuds, I stepped outside to check out the situation. No, it wasn't my imagination. As I watched, Shaggy Hair Boy took aim and flung a frisbee straight at the house.
"Hey, jo(e)! You ought to duck!" First Extra yelled helpfully as the object went hurtling past my head.
"WHAT IS GOING ON? IT LOOKS LIKE YOU ARE AIMING RIGHT AT THE HOUSE!"
Boy in Black gave me a patient look, like a parent about to explain something to a very small child.
"Well, of course," he said. "The corner of the house is the sixth hole."