Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.
Pony - 4 Darrel sr. - 31
Frivolous; adjective. Self-indulgently carefree; unconcerned about or lacking any serious purpose.
...
The sunlight sparkled through the window of the living room like a spotlight onto the couch next to my armchair. I closed my newspaper, no longer impressed with the new events of Tulsa, and set it on the coffee table next to me.
Sitting on the small table was a picture of our family, all ten Curtis eyes staring back at me. Ponyboy, who was two at the time, was held by Macy, who was standing next to me. Darry, at the age of eight, stood next to Sodapop, with his arms wrapped around his shoulders.
Smiling, I remembered for the millionth time how lucky I was to have the wonderful family I did. I let out a long content sigh, enjoying my normal Saturday afternoon surroundings. I could heard only halfway understandable words being shouted from my middle son, and hysterical laughter from my oldest. Macy was in the kitchen making everyone some lunch, and Ponyboy, our baby Curtis, was outside. At least that's what I thought, before he appeared in the doorway, his expression ecstatic. Deep in his green eyes, behind all the excitement, I could see a hint of curiosity.
"Daddy!" he exclamed, running over to me as quick as his toddler legs could carry him. When he was by my side he placed his tiny hand onto my knee, revealing a small, black and red ladybug crawling over his fingers. I smiled at him, impressed that he had actually caught it.
"Wow, Ponyboy," I told him, making my tone sound clearly excited. He grinned at me, revealing that he was still missing one of his front teeth that he had knocked out in a wrestling match with his brothers. His cheeks were flushed pink, probably from the heat outside, and his reddish copper hair was sticking to his forehead.
"I know, it's cool, ain't it?" he asked, glancing at me, still clearly excited about his newest discovery.
"Do you know what that is?" I asked him, pointing to the ladybug in his hand. His eyes lit up, as if he was realizing for the first time that this small insect actually had a name.
"What is it?" he questioned curiously. He gazed at me, waiting, as if I was about to give him the answer to a million dollar question.
"A ladybug," I informed him. He grinned, turning his eyes back to the insect crawling over his palm.
"Cool!" he nearly shouted. I laughed, enjoying seeing him so excited about something. Darry and Sodapop were getting too old to be this excited over such things as insects, so it was funny to watch my youngest son be so happy about it. "What does it do?" he asked, giving me a skeptical look, as if I might not have the answer.
"Well, nothing really. It's just a bug," I told him, shrugging. Suddenly a serious expression swept over his face, and his eyebrows pulled together. "Well," he started, now staring skeptically at the ladybug. "What are daddy ladybug's called?"
I laughed loudly, but I could only shrug to my information-hungry son. After 31 years of living - in the country at that - I didn't have an answer for that one.
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