It was my first day of kindergarten, I had insisted on wearing my favourite green corduroy shorts – hand me downs from one of my older brothers.
At morning recess, the boys, including my older brother, were allowed to play on the climbing equipment outside. The girls remained inside to play with dolls.
Growing up in a household with 4 older brothers, I had never had a doll, let alone played with one.
As a sign of things to come later in life, I protested about the injustices of boys getting the privilege of being able to play outside.
I filled a pram with dolls, and then snuck outside.
I took the pram to the side alley where there was a slight incline. I let go of the pram. The dolls went flying, some even lost their heads.
When the teacher saw what I had done, she smacked me.
I had never been smacked before. I was speechless.
When Mum came to collect me and Richard, I told her that the teacher had hit me.
Mum asked Richard to remain in the car. She took my hand and we marched to the headmistresses office. Mum said to the headmistress: “If a teacher touches Sarah again, I will report her to the Education Department”.
As a four year old, I knew that I had Mum in my corner. Over the next 50 years, she never let me down.