Recently, I was invited to a party. Despite my desperate social handicaps, described in detail in this column, the situation seemed safe. The celebrants were the 6-year-old twin children of a friend. In addition to the standard inducements of cake and ice cream, I was advised that Starbuck the Wonder Pony would be in attendance, giving rides. This critical bit of information turned the tide. I agreed to attend.
It was Tuesday afternoon. I arrived shortly after Starbuck made his appearance, and immediately went to work, lifting children on and off the pony, traveling with them around the yard with a steadying hand applied to whomever seemed to need it, and talking animatedly to Starbuck’s owner.
