To A Macallister Born. Joan Elliott Pickart

      Joey hopped from the room on both feet, announcing that he was Tigger. As he exited, the coffee mugs jiggled and clinked on the table.

      “That is one terrific kid,” Jack said, smiling at Jennifer. “Man, he’s neat.”

      “Yes, well, I think he’s pretty special,” she said, tracing the rim of her coffee mug with one fingertip. “He’s all boy, that’s for sure. Full of energy…Of course, as a typical five year old, he has definite opinions about things, and doesn’t hesitate to express them. You have to discount a great deal of what he says because he has a tendency to blither on and on, whether he knows what he’s talking about or not. Therefore—”