My mother always called me her little professor, and though I confess that I can't recall the nickname I can clearly recollect a number of early childhood memories that evidence why I deserved it. One of the most vivid that come to mind is of my mom and me frequently commuting by rail from Stilfontein, where my dad was working on the mine, to his Sister who lived with her husband and three boys in Germiston.
While waiting the arrival of our train I was often seen patrolling up and down the station track, dressed in my customary duffel coat, dungarees and supenders, button shirt and bowtie. When the train was delayed I woyld vent my frustration at the circumstance as neither the conductor nor security had any reply to my repeated enquiries pertaining to the reason for the delay, nor did anyone show any real interest to my rising concern and incessant suggestions that someone, anyone who cared please address the matter with due urgency.
Apparently I had quite the reputation with the station personnel who, enamoured by my studious habit and impeccable manner often played along with my serious concerns regarding the unannounced devation from scheduled arrival and departure timetable.
And so it happened one day my mom and a expecting mother was sharing a bench waiting for the train, when I noticed her lighting a smoke and enraged by her blatant disregard for the health and safety of her unborn child gave her a piece of my mind and then some, leaving both women shocked and my mom apologizing for her child's scathing behaviour.
