The first cabbage story showcases my brilliance at mimicry. I was observant, I was quiet and watched things. In my little Nelson central school, I had a teacher named Mrs. Savage. Her husband was the headmaster. She had dark short curly hair and was a little soft and round. Her remarkable attribute was a wide and round bottom, spanning east to west and north to south with equal measure. It was fascinating to watch the roll to the side, and then the compensatory vertical drop.
One fine day when she left the class, I felt I had mastered her moves, so I climbed up onto my desk and began to gyrate in her unique way.
“I’m Mrs. Cabbage”! I declared with each completed orbit around my spine.
My class appreciated me so much! They laughed and cheered, encouraged, I strutted from one desk to another, rocking and rolling along, until I met Mrs. Cabbage face to face.
She didn’t appreciate me at all. She didn’t give me a hundred lines to write. Nooooo. She didn’t hit my hand with a leather strap or ruler…noooo.
She reported me to her Mr. who saved me for the school assembly.
On that day, I stood at the top of the stairs with my arms outstretched like the gladiator I am and took three big whacks on each side in front of the entire school. I didn’t cry. I was proud. Everyone knew I got the strap for an extraordinarily fine performance. I was a hero! I was a star! Not really, but in my adolescent mind I was.