Pixie Dust

Here’s a true story about acting. When our kids were little, we spent a spring break with friends on Captiva, an island (recently walloped by Hurricanes Helene and Milton) on the southwest coast of Florida. Our friends had two children about the same ages as ours.

Every four or five houses in the neighbourhood shared a swimming pool. The houses were pretty much right on the beach, which meant the pools were often underused. But our children were learning to swim. We were in the pool a lot — rather to the chagrin, I was sure, of a couple who, under sun hats and sunglasses, were reading on their chaises. They must have had the place pretty much to themselves before our not exactly quiet arrival.

Occasionally I glanced their way. I was concerned that four leaping, splashing, shrieking kids might be precisely what they’d prefer to avoid on their holiday. But they appeared unperturbed. They read. And talked. And read. I never saw them go in the...