My Childhood Memories

The House Where it All Began

I have vivid memories of growing up in my childhood home. It was a blue and white tiled stairway that led up to the second floor. As a toddler, I would crawl up these risers and look at the intricate patterns at eye level. My parents were understandably worried I might fall down the stairs, so they installed a child-proof gate at the top. However, I quickly learned how to open it and would get into mischief in the middle of the night, prompting my parents to rush out of their bedroom and retrieve me from wherever I had wandered. This was the last house we all lived together under one roof before my parents’ split when I was three years old.

Treasured Moments in the Kitchen

One of my fondest early memories is making bread with my mother in our kitchen. I would get so excited squishing the flour between my tiny fingers and toes as she worked the dough. The smell of the rising bread remainsetched in my memory to this day. My mother also taught me my first poem during this time, “I Think Mice Are Very Nice,” which I amazingly still remember word for word from nearly three decades ago. Baking with her created special bonding moments that I now cherish deeply.

Getting to Know My Father in His New Home

After the divorce, my father built a house where he would live for the rest of his life. The first time I visited, I was in awe of the giant white banister that wrapped around the spacious staircase. I also took note of the dining room table and large library, where my father enjoyed spending Saturday afternoons immersed in books. This new place started to feel like a home for me too during our weekend visits. It was an adjustment navigating co-parenting between two households, but creating happy memories in both helped ease the transition.

Imaginative Gifts from My Mother’s Partner

While adjusting to her new marriage, my mother found a wonderful partner who loved engaging with me creatively. I always looked forward to his return from work, as he never failed to bring me something enrapturing to spark my youthful imagination. Beads for crafts, shiny trinkets, art supplies like oil paints and thinners - these small gifts fueled my natural curiosity endlessly. Over time, he became like a stepfather figure who helped provide stability during a difficult period of change.

Special Sundays Out with Dad

Every weekend, my father and I had our own tradition - visiting the local toy store. We would spend hours wandering the aisles ogling the latest toys and games , sometimes making small purchases to take home. Other times, we simply enjoyed bonding over shared wonder at the exciting selections. Looking back, I appreciate how he made those outings so meaningful, focusing on quality time together above any material things. They created precious daddy-daughter memories I’ll always cherish.

Formatting an Early Love of the Ocean

During summer breaks, my family took a vacation to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico one year. Playing in the blue Pacific Ocean waters forever hooked my young soul on the sea. Nearly five decades later and I still reside within view of those same shores that first ignited my passion. Whether boating, surfing or simply beachcombing, the rolling waves sing a familiar song etched within my heart since childhood. Their pull never lessens even today.

Whimsical Bedtime Routines

My parents filled my early years with imaginative games before bed. One strange ritual involved getting out of our pajamas, braving the cold streets barefoot to fetch a midnight snack from a nearby shop we called “Auch Arauch”. Looking back, it was more like 7:30pm, but as a preschooler it felt like the deepest night! These playful antics made bedtimes an adventure and instilled lifelong joy for whimsy.

Treasured Memories of Family

Every little moment from those formative years remains vivid - their laughter and play, arguments and reconciliations. All the silly little things they did, their madness and endless love. Most of all, I fondly remember how much family meant, the bond we shared before life’s complexities took hold. Those roots run deep within me, nourishing my soul even today. For that early foundation, I’ll always be grateful.

Earliest Recollections

My absolute earliest memories go back to when I was around two years old. I distinctly recall playing pretend in a yellow room with my brother, pushing toy cars along the floor. Another was visiting an unfamiliar office with an intriguing LED lightbulb I’d never seen before. Weirdly, I also have a dreamlike memory of being in a hospital surrounded by doctors and nurses, crying as I was placed on a cold metal surface. Those fragmented images from infancy remain etched within somehow.

Continuity of Childhood memories

I separate my childhood recollections into two categories - sporadic versus continuous. The sporadic memories before age one are few and far between. Some include my mother trimming my toenails and hurting me, causing me to wail. Another was my father trying to rock me to sleep in a cart, only to have me wake up when he stopped pushing. My continuous memories span from approximately age four onward in vivid detail. Things like baking with my mother, weekends with my father, and family adventures remain crystal clear depictions from my early years.