We do not get the official job of remembering ourselves. Others do that for us. We can try to control the narrative by writing autobiographies or talking about ourselves ad nauseam. But still others will decide how to define us. It must be frustrating for a President of the United States to be famous for uttering, “I am not a crook.” Or for splitting hairs about whether he inhaled or had sex with that woman. Teddy Kennedy was defined by a wrong turn on Chappaquiddick Island. A majority of Americans apparently want Hillary Clinton locked up for her emails even though the chanters likely do not know what any of those emails said. I could tell you what I am going to be remembered for but I refuse to spread that scurrilous gossip. Of course, until we die we cannot be sure about our defining moments. When I am eighty years old, I might rescue orphans and their pets from a burning building and be a hero. It will be annoying to have that happen so late in my life. It needed to occur when I was about thirty so I could bask in the deed for half a century. But with my luck, I will be remembered for accidentally setting fire to that dang orphanage.