My Favorite Student Story; or, Gumby's Fight for India's Independence from British Rule

Ah, so many. And were it not for this ONE story that I have, they'd all likely just eddy and swirl and bubble in the vortex of my memory. Yet one DOES rise out of the ooze, and it goes a little somethin' like this:

For about ten years, I taught at a nearby satellite campus of Truett-McConnell, a Baptist junior college. It's my understanding that the main campus is fairly respectable, but the branch close to me served almost exclusively as a waystation whereby students whose applications to the University of Georgia were denied could beef up their GPA and prove whatever worth they might have. I had a few good students, but mostly my classes were a menagerie of hoodlums, miscreants, and slackers.

With that exposition out of the way, we can move our focus to one particular class: American Literature through 1900. One the day on which this story centers, I had assigned to be read for class Thoreau's "Resistance to Civil Government," or, more affectionately, "Civil Disobedience." I open class by talking a bit about the immense influence this essay has had on later figures, especially Gandhi and Martin Luther King the Junior. Then I stop because I've learned that sometimes I take too much for granted, a particularly ill-advised tactic there at TMC. I ask the class what they know about Gandhi. Total silence. I look around hopefully. Several dudes in the back are dozing, one appears to be punching numbers into a calculator (probably unassociated with Gandhi), one girl is filing her nails. And then there was Amber on the front row, a talkative friendly very nice student who really tried so hard but.....well, she was a little dense. But I appreciated her efforts immensely. She made me feel a bit less alone. She'd take a stab at an answer, and I had to admire her tenacious attempts. At least she was awake, and tried.

Bless her heart.

I could see that she was wracking her brain for something connecting to the word "Gandhi." Then she started wiggling in her seat, and flapping her hands in little excited fanning motions: "oh oh oh oh! Wait! Wait! I know!!!!"

"Yes, Amber?"

"Is he that little green man??"

This brought me up short. Green? I though. HUH?

"Well......he's......hm.........maybe more ...brown, I guess...."

"No no no no no!" said Amber. "YOU know!!!"

I thought and thought. "No, I'm not sure...Can you tell me more?"

"ohhhh" she moans, holding her head. How much it hurts to think! "He's got that horse! You know!.....The horse is orange, I think...."

Then it hit me.

Oh my lord. This child is talking about GUMBY.

The poseable figure? And his trusty horse, Pokey?

What does one say to this? What is the correct pedagogical approach to such a comment??

I did not know.

I looked around the class. NO ONE appeared to have been privy to this gem she'd come out with in the least. How very sad.

I allowed myself a few seconds to mull over the images running through my head: Gumby in his turban, walking along the Ganges; Gumby carrying out his hunger strike; Gumby in the lotus position, meditating (easy for him, having bendable arms and legs!); Gumby leading the march to the sea.

I'm not one to discourage class participation. I try to make any comment, however inane, fit into the context of the discussion. But this one was beyond my capabilities, and I knew it. I had to fold. I said, "Oh, no. No, I think you're thinking about Gumby. This is Gandhi."

"Ohhh!" she said, as if she got it now. and crossed her arms with a disappointed look on her face.

I still marvel, though, at the mind that sees nothing whatsoever outrageous in mistaking one of the primary world leaders of all time for a green rubber toy!

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Oh, I've other stories, sure. Another fave involves the dude who was writing a typical bad essay analyzing some story or another, nothing spectacularly bad...until I get to the conclusion, in which he says (and I actually scanned this masterpiece and saved it, so I'm quoting here): "In conclusion, the character Elisa Allen is very much effected by her surroundings. Right now I'm typing this in between watching South Park and the Brendan Leonard Show. Sometimes I'll daydream I'm on an expedition in Africa and I'm chasing tigers. The reason I wrote all that is because it doesn't make sense. But I'm really pretty stoned right now and really wish I had a cheeseburger."

To which I replied with a big fat "F" at the bottom, but went through the coupons from the newspaper, found one for "buy one get one free cheeseburger" at Sonic, and stapled it at the bottom of the page, saying "Go for it. Have two."

When he turned in the paper with his revision, I was buoyed to see that he'd torn the coupon off.

But what amazes me about this one is the fact that, sure, maybe he's typing some crazy shit when he's in his altered state. But LATER, when he prints out the paper and actually brings it to class and hands it IN, did it never occur to him that his conclusion might not be the best wrap-up for a Steinbeck analysis??

God, I love my job.