You usually get a present from me about this time_something to wind up the year and celebrate the fun I have in talking with you each week. Choosing is not always easy. It’s job enough to find a gift for even one friend or relative_you just try getting one for a whole readership.

But I’ve succeeded. I went back over the past year’s notes, looking for stuff I hadn’t already shared with you, and found an entry of two words: "umbrella justice." That recalled a vastly satisfying incident. I hope it’ll bring you as much delight as it did me.

It happened on a hot day last summer in Italy, that pleasant restaurant on Cooperstown’s Main Street (now Nicoletta’s). More precisely, it occurred behind Italy, in the shady fenced garden that is the place’s warm-weather annex. Around noon, Anne and I were seated toward the back of the garden, sharing the ambiance with quiet diners at a half-dozen other umbrella tables.

One table toward the front was empty for a while. But then a party of three entered from the restaurant. The two adults were dressed in yuppie-tourist mufti, right down to pricey leather waist packs and camera cases. In their late thirties, they had a quiet, self-assured look. With them was a small barbarian of about four.

I say "barbarian" because no one, it seemed, had made a step toward helping that little boy become civilized. As his parents, smiling indulgently, settled themselves at the empty table, their ruffian ran amok among the other ones, glaring up into people’s faces and staring into their plates. After a few moments of this, his mother said sweetly, "Austin, wouldn’t it be nice to come sit in your chair?"

After her third repetition, Austin made a final face at a diner and frog-hopped towards his parents. He clambered onto his chair seat and then stood on it, legs spread, hands on hips, as if daring a challenge.

"Wouldn’t it be nice," his father said evenly, "to sit in your chair while we tell you about the menu?"

In answer Austin snatched up a menu, opened it, and clapped it on his head like a roof. Then he pivoted to check reaction from other tables. When no one smiled or laughed, he slapped the closed menu down on the table, and then hoisted a bent knee onto it.

"I wonder if the table is a good place to put your ..." His mother got that far before Austin, grabbing the umbrella shaft for support, swung the second knee onto the table. Smiling a bit grimly, the parents grabbed the table’s edge to steady it. [an error occurred while processing this directive]