I loved reading these essays. My students, colleagues, and friends know me well, and were generous in their appraisal of my work and its influence on theirs. But the essays were all written in the past tense. Although that is understandable, it does feel a bit like being present at my own funeral. I felt inclined to shout, “Wait, wait! Put down those shovels! I’m still here!” As proof that I am still here, I wanted to have the last word. And, as proof that it is really me and not some imposter doing a skillful imitation, my last word will take the form of (what else?) a story.