Saturday, November 24, 2012

Letting The Pony Express

The Pony has grown a bit contrary and argumentative in his teenage years. I don't know where he gets it. I'm pretty sure from his father, but to pose that hypothesis would bring on a quarrel.

This morning we battled over him wearing his dark blue Adidas slides with the white stripes in The Devil's Playground. I of the opinion that it is November twenty-freaking-fourth, and slides are not worn with Carhartt-colored carpenter pants in public. The Pony of the opinion that since I let him wear his slides before, it was fine now. Never mind that before was in the summer, with shorts. Yesterday we had it out over whether he had to wear ankle socks with his pants and slides, even though he was remaining in T-Hoe while I went in Save A Lot. My argument being that with a temperature of forty-one degrees, and twenty mile-per-hour winds, socks were necessary. Which was actually a continuation of the disagreement over why he could not wear shorts instead of pants.

Today on the way to town, I pointed out a frozen rack of deer ribs on the right, on the banks of the creek we had just crossed via low-water bridge. I like to act as tour guide. Spout little-known facts. Hey! I've done it since my kids were captives in rear-facing infant car seats. And they're both pretty accomplished in the halls of academia, so I will take full credit for expanding their little minds as I saw fit. You never know what they're going to absorb.

Let the record show that The Pony refuses to ride in the shotgun seat. He sits behind me. No amount of coaxing or cajoling can get him to move up front. So I never know if he's responding to me or doing his own thing.


"There's a rack of frozen deer ribs."


"Well, excuse me. I was just pointing it out. They were there yesterday morning, with a dog gnawing on them."


"Yeah, but I never know if you're listening to me."

"I always listen."
"That's a dirty lie. I'm going to come back there an set your pants ablaze. Liar, liar."

"I would let them burn. Until they were shorts-length, and then I would put them out."

"Very funny. You DO NOT always listen. Sometimes you have your head in a book. Sometimes you have your head in your laptop."

"Well, I didn't yesterday. You should know that. You would have heard my fingers clicking on the keys."

"I don't know what kind of superhuman hearing you think I have."

"You can hear slightest murmur of discontent in your classroom."

"I'm trained for that. I can always hear discontent."

"Like a drill sergeant."


I WILL take credit for The Pony's sense of humor.


Sioux said...

He's growing up, The Pony is.

That's part of the maturing process. A pony kicks up his heels in the pasture, and you need to ignore it if you can. If not, show him the whip but don't use it.(You can watch the movie "Seabiscuit" 17times in a row if you want to learn how to use a whip or crop on a horse as prescribed.)

There's lots of manure that will need to be shoveled out in the next few years. Enjoy watching The Pony cavorting in the fields while you can. Soon, he'll jump the fence in search of greener pastures...

Hillbilly Mom said...

I am happy that he is still my little beast of burden. He's my gofer go-to guy.

I caught him talking to a girl and letting her wear his glasses at school. I suppose it's a better tactic than asking, "Do you come here often?"