Friday, April 7, 2017

ALIEN WILDEBEEST RIDER

What would a normal teacher do when receiving a plastic alien from a student?

We are studying Ray Bradbury and reading a story from The Martian Chronicles.  Mars is the focus of our study, and we are immersing ourselves in Bradbury's science fiction culture.  We illustrate the story using colors and features that exist in the writer's strange, other-worldly setting. We toss around some of the invented Martian words we lift right from the pages of the text.

So, I am not the least bit surprised to receive a small plastic alien figurine from one of my savvy charges.  I pick the alien up, hold it in my hands for a moment, then wistfully say out loud, "I wonder how Alien would look riding a wildebeest."


This is when I look up from my desk and notice that all eyes are on me.  For once in their lives, the students are silent and paying absolute attention to everything I say.

"You have a wildebeest?" one asks.

I turn around and grab a small brown plastic blob from the shelf under my whiteboard.  For years I have had a toy wildebeest figurine, the kind that might come with a child's bucket of plastic zoo animals.  I've always liked the word "gnu," which is what a wildebeest is, and now that it has a cool name that is much cooler than "gnu," I like the animal even more.

Years ago we owned two lifted SUVs that some people might call monster trucks.  One of those vehicles was nicknamed "The Wildebeest" after something Marlin Perkins might say on Wild Kingdom -- "Me and Hank were eating baloney and pine cone sandwiches and drinking boiled sap from the trees when we spotted a wildebeest being chased by a lioness.."

The plastic wildebeest is a perfect size.  Alien doesn't even need to ride side-saddle.  It's a match made in ... well ... Mars, apparently.  Bradbury would've appreciated the story-starter, I'm sure, because this is definitely what normal teachers do when receiving an alien from a student.