1980 - almost 10 years old My best friend at Gladesville Primary School was Yasmin. She was an Indian girl: tall, thin, graceful and very beautiful. Yasmin was always modestly dressed and consistently wore long blue slacks under her school tunic to keep her legs covered. We became fast friends when I started at the school in fourth grade. The two of us would have loads of fun together, plenty of adventures in the playground, and we would often hatch some rather interesting plots. I guess we probably clicked so neatly because we were both from slightly different worlds to those experienced by the average primary school child. And this fact would have been obvious to the children, as we both always looked different - her with her covered legs, and me with my winter uniform worn in summer because my summer tunic had been destroyed by the washing machine and my adoptive mother hadn't deemed it necessary to replace. I don't recall telling her anything about what I was going through at home, and I don't recall her telling me anything about her own home life either - and we were probably both very content with such an arrangement because questions would have been disquieting for either of us. I was always yawningly hungry, being consistently underfed, and I guess Yasmin probably yearned for junk food, like most kids. One morning we decided that we both really wanted to have a hot dog for lunch, which was relatively inexpensive at the school's modest canteen. The only problem was that neither of us ever had any money. We put our heads together and came up with a plan. As it was my turn to take the class lunch orders to the canteen, The Plan was not hard to find - I would take some money from the lunch basket - easy pickings! Of course we were convinced that we would never be caught, that the canteen staff would just assume there had been a mistake. So, once class started in the morning, I waited nervously for the children to finish putting their lunch orders in the basket. I wondered whether it was at all obvious that I had a plan, was sure that people must be able to tell, and then with great relief marched out of the classroom with the basket, looking as though I had not a care in the world. Halfway to the canteen I stopped, hid somewhere between the whitewashed buildings, and checked the brown paper bags. I needed about a dollar and reasoned that if one lunch order was found to be that much short, the relevant child would miss out on lunch. To add to that, if that child then claimed that their lunch order had been correctly paid for, I would be under suspicion. Instead of creating such a situation, I took twenty cents from each and every bag, figuring that then each child would probably have no trouble getting their lunch and no-one would think much of such a small shortage. After shakily depositing the money in my pocket, I reorganised the bags so that they looked innocently untouched again, and carried the basket the rest of the way to the canteen. I smiled my most charming smile as I handed over the basket, and headed back to class. Sometime later that morning, one of the canteen staff visited our class and asked who had carried the basket to the canteen. Of course, all the children pointed at me and clamoured, "She did!" I was asked to go out of the classroom with the teacher and the canteen lady, who then explained how, oddly enough, each and every order was short twenty cents today. Both of these adults looked at me questioningly as this revelation was presented. I, of course, instantly realised the error in my logic, and saw how such a stupid mistake would be so obvious to them. I confessed immediately, aware that there was little point in approaching the situation any differently. A hand was proffered palm-up and I placed the cash therein. I was then led to the Principal's office. I was made to wait outside his office for what seemed an eternity as the situation was explained to him behind closed doors. He then called me into the office, ushered away the other adult, and sat me down opposite him. He glared at me across the desk for what seemed the longest time, finger-tips pressed together under his chin much the same as when children pretend to make a church steeple. The silence was terrible, closing in around me as I wondered what on earth he was planning to do to punish me. He placed his hands flat on the table and that's when I saw it. Lying across the table, under his outstretched fingers, was his cane. I wasn't unfamiliar with such an instrument, but in my experience it had always been wielded at home, and school had always been a safe haven for me, a place where I had never experienced physical punishment from an adult, a place where I excelled academically and could be myself. My skin began to prickle as he picked up the cane with his right hand and slowly tapped it on his left hand, seemingly pondering something. I grinned nervously at him, and immediately wished I hadn't. Then I wished I could get the grin to disappear from my face, but in my nervousness I was unable to control what those muscles were doing! I was betraying myself. The situation was looking desperate, as I could see that my 'attitude' was angering him more. There was a long pause, and then, "If only you were a boy," was all he said, in a quiet, deadly voice, as he continued to tap the cane menacingly on his hand. As I exhaled, I realised I had been holding my breath and the wave of relief that hit me at that point was almost excruciating. Of course! He couldn't use the cane on me because I was a girl! I can't remember much of what came after that. I imagine that he gave me a terribly boring and frightening lecture about theft and mostly I would have tuned out at this point. I know that all that would have mattered to me at the time was that he wasn't going to punish me, and he said nothing about telling my adoptive mother what had happened - which would have been far more terrifying than any other threat he could have bestowed upon me.