5 years old

My earliest memory, as a little boy was sitting at a table being force fed custard and cabbage, pile and piles of rancid cabbage with butter on it. My mother would tell me that if I didn't eat it she would tell my dad when he got home and that he would be angry and he would eat it all up.

Of course, time after time it worked, and time after time I swallowed down the cabbage, and then the custard. Gladly it wasn't at the same time or in the same bowl. That would come later.

I would also learn that telling dad would prove harder than had been expected.