Sat 4 Apr, 2015 01:11 pm
I remember playing with building blocks in my living room and separating the blue blocks from the rest.
I think I was about 3 or 4.
What was your first memory?
And how old were you?
I remember you're doing that too. I was 4 also. They were MY blocks!
I remember my playpen, from inside. It was in the middle of the living room. Guessing two or three. I think I remember the highchair, but not so sure of that.
I was born in mid January of 1942. I remember the day Hitler offed himself. The town air raid siren blew incessantly. All the neighbors were outside with their New Year's noisemakers, firecrackers and just plain hootin'nholler'n. We children would hold fingers under our nose mustache style, and raise our right hands, yelling 'Heil Hitler'. I may have memories from before that time, but this one is dated.
Heh, I'm two months older than you are...
I also remember snow, but not exactly when.
wow! i´ve expend the whole night arguing with a friend about whether me remembering events at the age of 3 clearly and some at the age of 1 but quite blurry was something i made up later or really something true printed on my mind at such a young age!
could it be possible? to remember something that happened being 1?
I´m positively sure it is a real memory but he insisted it was just impossible to remember something that happened when you were just a baby
I remembered that I remember something else, now that I see this thread again.
I remember eating Pablum, then used as baby/toddler food; remember hearing the word, probably a lot.
Mom always told folks my first words were "goddammit".
I very clearly remember the morning of my fourth birthday--i can't vouch for earlier memories. I went downstairs to use the bathroom (i was an early riser even in those far off days). My grandfather was in the bathroom shaving (i lived with my grandparents). He used a straight razor, and i can clearly see the razor strop hanging beside the sink. He didn't say anything, but just turned to look at me and smiled. Later that day, for my birthday, i got a wooden firetruck with little figures of firemen in wood, which fit into holes of different sizes and shapes. They were all painted different, bright colors.
Looking back on the event, with what i learned later, i know that it was between three and four o'clock in the morning--my grandfather worked from four a.m. until noon. I know the exact date because of my birthday; however, as i later learned, it would have been six days before my birthday, because i celebrated my birthday on the same day as my grandfather's birthday, which was actually six days earlier.
My earliest memory is of New York, where i was born, but it's very vague, and i would have not yet been three years of age, so i'm uncertain of that. I was sitting on the stoop looking at an incomprehensible world.
I don't remember how old I was but I remember sitting in between my mom and brother and cuddling as she read us a story and it was the first snow of the year.
Dad was driving, mom was in the passenger seat, I was on the floor by her feet. They had put me there I assume because I was sleeping when they left where ever we were to go home. The transmission hump between the seats started to hot and it woke me up, I was afraid.
I cant pin down how old I was because years later when I asked mom she denied that she would have put me on the floor. That does not mean anything because at the time her memories where what ever mixture of fact and fantasy that would get her through the day.
Considering that I was a big baby and grew fast I doubt I was more than 2 1/2 .
I was in a neighbor’s house--an elderly couple. I had wet my pants and my mother had put a diaper on me. I clumsily made my way out of the kitchen and into the living room where the old man was sitting in a rocking chair staring off blankly as he listened to a radio on a stand beside his chair. I walked until I was beside his rocker. I stopped and looked up at him. He ignored me. I kept staring up at him. Finally, he looked down at me, and our eyes met. I simply stared back, and then said, “Daa” because the moment was uncomfortable. I couldn’t talk, and it was just the sound I decided to make. Suddenly it was as if I was seeing me through his eyes. He saw me as ugly. I looked down at my legs and the big, baggy diaper I was wearing, and I felt ugly. I didn’t like being ugly, and I felt ashamed and didn’t want him to look at me anymore. I don’t remember anything after that. That man had killed himself sixteen years later. He shot his wife first, and then himself.
Difficult, major so.
I've no bright things to say.