I would like to acknowledge my grandchildren, Keslie Ward, Audrey White, Kyle Ward, Andy White, and Rachel White. I hope they will pass on some of the stories to their children someday.

I am glad to have an opportunity to acknowledge and thank the many people who helped and encouraged me, but as I was writing this, the image of the Hollywood Oscar acceptance speeches came to mind and I felt a brief wave of narcissistically induced nausea! "I'd like to thank all of the little people who helped to make me into the awesome person I turned out to be." I used to become impatient with the long list of people thanked by the Oscar recipients but, given a similar opportunity, find that I'm just as verbose.

As a kid, I loved to hear my grandfather Rudy tell about his childhood in the old country. He was a storyteller, and people would gather around him when we were fishing to hear his tales. I think I either got his storytelling genes or identified with him, or both, because I tend to see each day as a story.

My dad was a professor who saw, as his primary mission, giving his students confidence that they could be good mathematicians. He made a big deal over their successes and minimized their errors as his shortcoming for not teaching them better. He raved over my lousy play on the golf course and, throughout my life, kept telling me that I should write a book. I finally did it, but he is no longer here to read it and tell me how great it is.

My mom passed away last year at age eighty-nine. She had a difficult life with two open-heart valve replacements and bypass surgeries and several serious depressive episodes. She would be pleased to know that I wrote a book but probably wouldn't have read it because of the profanity. My mother-in-law, Mildred Yockey, probably won't like the profanity either, but I think she will enjoy reading the book.

My brother, Dick, calls several times a week to keep in touch and exchange jokes. We make a special effort to keep our relationship