Keppet's Milestone post is making me think about five-year-old me. I suppose I was a happy little child. I certainly seemed to fit into my classes well. On the first day of class, I walked across the school crossing outside of my house, Mum's hand in mine. After sprawling amongst the gravel at the front gate (I had battle-scars to show off, I was happy) she took a photo. There I am, standing in front of the school with a 'Happy Little Vegemite' t-shit and pigtails. And of course, bloodied knees.

I have one vivid memory of sitting in the classroom holding a crayon. I was so little that my head barely reached to the top of the back of the seat. I remember drawing outside of the lines, and arguing that we were going to cut that bit off anyway. I remember asking my teacher 'why?' when she asked us to draw a picture of God. After conferring with my neighbour (as I had no idea) I scribbled a man in blue robes. He had big grandpa ears and glasses.

I know I learned to write before Primary school, because my Mum taught me. I can still remember the first time I painted my name in big red letters at Kindy. The 'E' had far too many horizontal strokes.