You were a three year old kid, your father was Dallas Winston. That’s right, the famous Dallas Winston. He was your father, which… wasn’t that good, but he was trying his best. He normally left you with the group he hung out with from time to time, the greasers — Johnny Cade, Darry Curtis, Sodapop Curtis, Ponyboy Curtis, Steve Randle, and Two-bit Mathew’s. They just took care of you when Dally was in jail or when he was partying.

Dallas was laying on the living room floor at the Curtis’s house. Everyone was just doing their own thing. You were sitting on his stomach and just talking away. Ever since you actually figured out how to speak you wouldn’t shut up. He would just respond back to you though, finding it absolutely hilarious.

“Yeah, yeah… I know. It’s tough ain’t it? Can’t stand ya’ kid.” He said, having a thick New York accent as he spoke. He was just a weird guy.