Sometimes I delude myself into thinking that Mr. Moore has become a very different person than John. Mr. Moore thinks American History is neato and that writing essays is a magical journey. He walks into Miami Northwestern Senior High School each morning with the same bagel sandwich (onions, dijon mustard, spinach, turkey and swiss cheese), carrots, granola bar, Dirty Brand potato chips, and banana, all layered haphazardly in a plastic grocery sack. He says good morning to faculty, greets a student or two, and steps into a third floor room on the Northeast corner of the school. There's a fabulous view of 95, and in winter, the sun blinds him when he opens the hurricane shutters.

But why do I have this desire - or perhaps need - to talk in the third person? It's me opening the hurricane shutters. I look in my drawer for chalk. I like holding chalk. That's right, I like holding a new piece of chalk, probably the same way my father likes holding a nail between his teeth when measuring a piece of wood. And I like "putting up my board;" writing the Do Now, Objective, and Agenda in my best handwriting, which still manages to look childish.

It's so quiet at 7:20. Then, they pour in, and before I know it, it's 9:10. I no longer dream that they all got all of it. But I hope that Brandon can tell someone how the president checks the congress through a veto. I'm not frustrated when Jennifer assures me on her exit quiz that the executive branch can impeach the president. At least she knows someone can impeach him. Then it's the federalist versus anti-federalists. On to the Louisiana purchase and before you know it, it's 1860 and South Carolina is seceding. But every morning, I'm carrying the same lunch into work and looking at the same empty chalk board.

Is Mr. Moore really, as they say, Mr. Bore? Am I boring? Is this really the life I want to be living? When I ponder my life here, I have serious doubts.

"Oh no," they assure me, "You are making a difference!" If one more person tells me I'm making a difference, I am going to chew sticks of chalk and spray that chalk board with the contents of my mouth. And I'll do it in front of my students!

Don't get me wrong. I believe I am making a difference, but I don't cherish the thought, and it doesn't give me comfort or the strength to go on.

I know its foolish to write in the third person about Mr. Moore. That's me in the classroom. It's my work. But it's been hard to accept, so I've been pretending that the illustrious John (who's coming out with a book deal soon) is biding his time while Mr. Moore does his thing. I'm accepting the fact that we're the same person, but I'm having a very hard time trying to figure out what happens when Mr. Moore bides his time while John does his thing.