It was my first Roosevelt Island Day since moving to Southtown and, since I didn’t have a child handy, I tried to borrow one from the neighbors.

When I moved here a year ago, a college buddy who has lived in Rivercross since the day it opened warned me off Roosevelt Island Day, saying, in effect, that it wasn’t mandatory. "It’s just for kids," he said. So I skipped it last year.

Guide, with friends

But this is my Island, darn it, and if my Island is having a Day, I want to be part of it. (As long as I have time for coffee first.)

Technically, one doesn’t need a child in tow in order to enjoy Roosevelt Island Day. But unless you’re going to pet the goat and ride the ponies all by yourself, it helps to bring along someone who comes up to your elbow. Knowing what a friendly little Island this is, I thought it wouldn’t be a problem borrowing someone else’s kid.

I phoned a neighbor who moved in the same week I did. Her response: "You’re going to run pictures of my child in The WIRE? That’s an invitation to kidnappers!"

You have to forgive my neighbor; she, like me, is newly from Manhattan, isle of the suspicious and paranoid and children-on-a-leash. "How about if I disguise his identity, maybe call him ‘Blanket’ like Michael Jackson’s kid? Hello? Do we have a bad connection? Hello?" You know you’ve really integrated yourself into the Island fabric when your neighbors are hanging up on you.

But I knew this was not the Roosevelt Island way. I would borrow Helene’s two boys. "Rides scare them," said Helene flatly.

I called Linda. She doesn’t have any children to loan out, but at least she could keep me company. "Dream on," she said.

Fine. I’ll go it alone.

But wait – who’s that I see by the jumbo inflated slide that advertises the DVD release of the animated movie Cars? Why, it’s my good friend and his kids. "Hey!" I wave, knowing that seeing Roosevelt Island Day through the liquid, trusting eyes of someone else’s children will be much more enlightening than through my bleary, can’t-talk-before-Starbucks self. My good friend nods politely and weaves his kids between the rabbit hutch and the mama and baby goat to avoid me. You know you’ve really put down roots in a nice, friendly new town when you already have someone mad at you.

Luckily, I was saved by Jordana Israel, age 8. This dark-haired beauty was afraid of neither rides nor kidnapping. In fact, I had barely introduced myself before Jordana spied my camera, sussing out the situation and the photo-op. She volunteered herself as my official guide to Roosevelt Island Day – being a veteran and all, since she has attended the event ever since she was 6.

Jordana dragged me to the petting zoo so she could pose for photos with some fauna. "My picture was in The WIRE two years ago," she explained, "but it was very small." I heard the implicit condemnation and dutifully snapped 20 pictures: Jordana with goat. Jordana with two screaming chickens. Jordana with piglet.

It turns out that Jordana is related to Judy Arond, who helped organize the annual festival of rides and ponies, hot dogs and popcorn, music and flower planting. Would my "in" with the organizers get me closer to one of those cool-looking festival tee-shirts?

It would not. The tee-shirts were gone, distributed by the boxful when nary a sip of wake-up coffee had passed my lips. Apparently, a true Islander knows to get here early for the free tee-shirts. But at least you know you’re on your way to being a true Islander when event organizers are looking at you pityingly.

Meanwhile, Jordana had me firmly by the hand and was briefing me like it was Mission: Impossible. "She’s very articulate," whispered her mom.

I asked the child what her favorite part of the day was, historically speaking. "I don’t have a favorite part. But, if I had to pick one, I’d have to say the face-painting," said Jordana, sounding like a pro on the TV talk-show circuit. There was no face-painting at the moment; perhaps it took place in the wee hours before the free tee-shirts disappeared.

And how is the inflatable slide, Jordana? "The boy in front of me was slow," she opined. "But then I went down, and all of a sudden I started slipping, it felt like a water slide and I was going at top speed!"

It was nearly time for the pony rides. Kristen Leopold, 3, was first in line, and she was champing at the bit, so to speak. "I wanna sit on the horse! I wanna sit on the horse!" But Red and Sugar, the ponies, weren’t quite as eager. They were eating what little grass the Good Shepherd courtyard had to offer.

"What seems to be the problem here?" I asked; The Main Street WIRE was going to get to the bottom of this!

"It’s not 12:30 yet," said one of the two young men holding the ponies in check.

"But it’s almost 12:30," I pointed out.

"Our boss was paid for a certain amount of time, and it’s not 12:30."

With ten minutes to go before pony-time, I did some deep, reporter-style probing. "When the children get on the horses, where do you take them?"

"In a circle."

"How many circles?"

"Two. Maybe three. It depends. Sometimes the kids cry."

Approaching Storm commanded instant attention when the marching group drummed their way down Main Street to Good Shepherd Plaza.

I asked Kristen if she had ever ridden a pony before. She shook her head no. "That means yes," said her dad helpfully. Ah, the mysteries of Island communication.

"And what’s your name so I can write it in the newspaper?" I asked.

Kristen looked up at her dad. "I don’t know my name," she said. "Yes you do, honey." "No I don’t!"

A rip-roaring marching band in blue uniforms and silver helmets stepped lively through the plaza. Emblazoned on the uniform was their name, Approaching Storm – which seemed prescient, given the increasingly moody day. The band’s sunny charm, however, kept the skies dry.

Here’s Jordana again, filling me in on the name of her doll (Samantha) and the quality of the rides ("Fun"). So what if my neighbor is hanging up and my buddy isn’t talking to me? You know you have a place on this Island when there’s an 8-year-old who wants to hold your hand and tell you about her day.