(This isn't my memory. Like all my recent posts it's one of Seven Answers).
I must have been about four years old. I was riding my bicycle which had three wheels. I loved my bicycle. But while I was outside, riding around the car park which served the houses in our lane, the police came and took my bicycle away. This event happened just after my earliest ever memory. I was in my home with my mother and the police knocked at the door. Somehow they came inside. My mother pushed me behind her back as the police entered our living room, two of them, and my mother picked up a glass bottle from the table, smashed the end off and brandished it at the police to make sure they didn't come closer. It was me they wanted, but they didn't take me that day. It was the following day when they came again, when I was outside with my bicycle.