CABBAGE LEAF
(Name changed to protect the innocent?)
We had a fifth grade teacher named Miss Guest. She had a standing rule that if you got caught chewing gum in class you would get a paddling. In those days each classroom had a long narrow cloakroom with one shelf on each side and pegs. The shelf was for lunch pails (although no one brought a lunch; we ate in the lunchroom or walked home for it) and galoshes; the galoshes; the pegs were for coats; and the cloakroom was where teachers always did their paddling. I guess the educational designers believed in revealing the swats and screams as a deterrent to misbehavior.
Well, it worked just the opposite for my cousin, Charles Emmett and me. Miss Guest did not paddle hard, and there is a sort of "macho" feeling of bravado in boys that makes them seek punishment when it's not too dear, because of the gratification they receive from their fellows too timid to risk it. Her paddle was a yardstick, and our baggy overall seats protected us from feeling much pain. So, we made sure we got caught chewing gum almost every day. She had a routine of administering her paddles immediately after recess, which gave us time to mosey around the playground being eyed by girls with sympathy or admiration for our upcoming ordeal.
There was one guy in my fifth grade class named Cab. I was afraid of Cab. He was the only boy in our school who ever got paddled for failing to shave. See, Cab was 16 and in the fifth grade.
Cab was twice the size of any other kid in our school. When Cab told us to do something, he didn't have to say it but once because we had seen what he did out at recess to those who resisted!
Students were divided according to when they enrolled in school. We had an A group that started early and a B group that had started later in the year. I was in the B group but I had an easy time academically, finishing my assignments quickly, and I learned most of the material taught to the A group, too.
Cab wanted me to sit with him when he took tests. It almost never happened, but one day when 5A was to take a geography test, Miss Guest put me with him. Cab used a crude but effective technique-he would jab me in the ribs with his elbow to get my attention, then point at the question he wanted me to supply the answer to. I had my tablet ready, and I would write the answer on it and cover it with my hand. When I thought Miss Guest was out of position to see, I would lift the side of my hand so that only he could see what I had written.
"In what year did Columbus discover America?" Elbow jab. "1492."
"Name one of Columbus' ships." Elbow jab. "Nina."
"Who discovered the Mississippi River?" Elbow jab.
"BILLY! LIFT YOUR HAND!"
There it was.......................DeSoto.
She grabbed me by my shirt and pulled me up from my seat. The rebel in me caused me to pull away from her and RIP. I ripped my shirt. I was sure that she had committed an act that even my parents would defend my actions. My mama made my shirts.
On my way home for lunch that day, I rehearsed the story that I would tell my mama. Don't think I wasn't scared; my parents were serious about supporting teachers. The rule was, "If you get a whipping at school, you get another one at home." I was counting BIG on the torn shirt. I even felt sorry for Miss Guest if my mama went back to school with me and lit into her. Just to improve my chances of a successful deception, I managed to tear the shirt more and more until it hung in tatters. As I entered the house, I managed a snuff or two out loud as if I had been crying.
When I saw her in the kitchen putting my dinner on the table, I began, "Mama, look what my teacher done! "
That was all she let me say.
She said, "HUSH!"
She took my dinner plate off that table and set it back on the stove and in a tone of voice that I dared not defy, she said, "Billy, you turn yourself around RIGHT NOW, and go BACK to that school and APOLOGIZE to that teacher because whatever you did MUST HAVE BEEN AWFUL!"
I asked, "Can I change shirts mama?"
"No!" was her wise reply.
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