April 6, 2005

Dear Mr. Bush,

"You look like one of us," one of my students said to me, as the elevator doors closed behind us.

"Huh?" I asked, confused and tired after my three hour class.

"You dress like a student," she explained, laughing slightly, as everyone else in the elevator turned and gave me the once over, surprised that the guy in the red sneakers, dirty pants, wrinkled shirt, and thick plastic glasses was, in fact, an instructor.

And I guess it's true. I don't look like much of an instructor. And perhaps I'm not. But on a night like last night, where I was awake and alert and on top of my material, I sure felt like one.




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