For weeks, my friends and colleagues have looked forward to my last day almost as much as I have. "When you leaving?" they'd ask. Sometimes I'd hear the question several times a week from the same person. It was as if, depending on the answer, there was something in it for them.

Mostly, the questions about my imminent departure were polite, though occasionally they took on an urgency tinged with exasperation: "Damn! You still here?" It's an odd spot to be in when you're a short-timer. You never know whether folks want to see you coming or going.

As the end of the month approached, I couldn't help getting a little defensive as questions about when I was leaving evolved to the next level: "Are you packed yet?"

It felt a little like the smelly uncle being shown the door minutes after the last crumbs and juices of the Thanksgiving dinner had been scraped into the garbage disposal. If only I hadn't indulged in such idle talk earlier in the summer when I speculated about being out of this joint by the third week of August. Alas, those plans fell by the wayside because my supply of unused vacation days was smaller than I thought.

Still, it was interesting to see the extent to which folks wanted to hold me accountable to my original timetable. "Man, weren't you supposed to be long gone by now? When, exactly, are you leaving?" Next week, I assured everyone, explaining my plan to write a "farewell-for-now" column on the last Monday of the month. That elusive Monday finally came and not a minute too soon. Today's column will be my last until June 2006.

Right-wingers who consistently call my editor to demand my immediate firing shouldn't break out the Cristal champagne just yet. Folks in the peace and justice community shouldn't assume the worse by my absence in these pages until the middle of next year, either. I haven't been canned, demoted, put-out-to-pasture or lured away by a more enticing offer.

On Thursday, I begin the first day of orientation as a member of the Knight-Wallace Fellowship class of 2005-2006 at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, Michigan. On May 2, the KWF program awarded me a slot for the coming year. I now have eight months to work on a project that I wouldn't have time to do given the daily constraints of writing columns, editorials and weekly television commentaries for "KD/PG Sunday Edition."

There was only one catch. In exchange for being named a Knight-Wallace fellow, I would have to give up my column for an academic year to concentrate on a project I proposed during the interview process.

Sounds fair to me. Given that I've been toiling over the column for nine years, I thought I needed a break from being clever twice a week. Readers certainly needed a break from me.

For its part, the PG has graciously given me the next eight months off to do the KWF program. Post-Gazette editor David Shribman has even assured me that my slot will be waiting for me when I return. He didn't look like he had his fingers crossed behind his back at the time, so I believe him.

Still, the PG's editor never misses an opportunity to tell me about the many folks who call on a regular basis suggesting I be fired for what they consider my unpatriotic black militancy. I usually take it in stride until David breaks out his evil New England cackle. It's hard to tell if David Shribman is laughing at you or with you when he gets going.

Which brings us to today's column. When I return to this beat next year, I will be refreshed, and hopefully a wee bit smarter and more attentive to the opportunities writing a column affords. I've had a lot of fun, but like any serious golfer trying to make it to the next level, I need to change up my swing from time-to-time.

That doesn't mean I won't miss the dozens of readers of all political stripes who actually look forward to the column every week. Your words of encouragement and even the rare rebuke have made my entire day on more than one occasion. Thanks for caring enough about the column to read it and digest its ideas. And thanks for taking it seriously enough to disagree when your conscience compelled you to do so.

As for my critics, well, your name is legion. How will you survive without your least favorite columnist to kick around like a pinata for a year? Well, don't worry, ladies and gents. The column will return next year, leaner and meaner from so much time off gathering a white hot plume of righteous indignation. I'll probably come swinging because of all the civility I will have had to endure for a year.

Yesterday, several of my colleagues gave me a cake send-off. Standing in a circle listening to my colleagues' playful put-downs, I had to work hard to hold back a tear. The Post-Gazette is a wonderful place to work, even when you're being mercilessly teased. Turns out that I'm going to miss these folks almost as much as I'm going to miss you, dear reader.

In the meantime if you're so inclined, please feel free to send snail mail to my attention c/o the Knight-Wallace Fellowship, University of Michigan, 620 Oxford Road, Ann Arbor, MI. 48104. I can't guarantee that I'll answer every letter, but I have plenty of time to read each note.

Au revoir for now, my friends. I'll see you again when gasoline is $10 a gallon and Karl Rove has finally been indicted for high crimes and misdemeanors.