Many characters have walked into my classroom. This past year was certainly no exception. One particular freshman boy came to class every day either in a suit and tie and holding a fedora; or--more frequently--he was sporting a head-to-toe uniform suitable for a soldier fighting for our independence from England centuries ago. As I studied this young man, I realized he was likely a genius, but he was either bored or lazy. He never seemed to crave attention with his attire: he quietly went about his business and seemed to be at ease in his wardrobe's shout-out to another time. All he lacked was a musket.
About halfway through the school year, I could no longer ignore this throwback to days of yore. One day, I was at my desk and I needed this fellow to run an errand for me. "Hey, Colonel--" I began.
He turned to me immediately. Keep in mind, I had never before called him by anything but his given name. He answered to the title of his alter ego without hesitation.
From that point on, he was "the Colonel."
A month or two later, Colonel popped into the classroom in the middle of another class. Of course, he was outfitted in keeping with his name. He walked through the door, stopped a few feet in, and looked curiously around the classroom.
"Colonel," I called to him, "you okay?"
Colonel rarely spoke, but he cast a confused glance in my direction, then continued to scan his surroundings. "I am looking for my backpack."
"Hmmm..." I said. "Maybe you left it in colonial Williamsburg."
He was unfazed.
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