Before my parents bought the house I grew up in, we were living in an apartment building on the opposite end of the block from my grandparents’ house. My earliest memory is riding my tricycle down the sidewalk to visit my grandparents; I was probably three or four at the time.
I also remember the first time I saw the new house; the furniture hadn’t been delivered and there was all this empty space to run around in. I found a wooden rod with a handle in a closet and was waving it around like a sword until my Dad took it away from me before I hit someone.
My three-year-old eyes snapped open and I looked at the blue-painted wood of my crib around me. The fear and terror of the dream was still with me; I can definitely remember seeing the evilly-buzzing cartoony lightbulb from the dream superimposed, in my mind’s eye, over the top of the footboard of my crib. I remember the shape of the filament and how it was orange… I think that even at that age I had an idea that it needed electricity and wires to work.
Much later I learned that I was born three months premature and spent those months in an incubator. I haven’t seen the particular model of incubator that I spent all that time in, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find that it had a lightbulb where I remember it from the dream.
A feature of my early drawings was ‘the clutches’. These were two groping clawlike hands that came down from the top corners of the page. Last year I saw an incubator at a hospital exhibit at the Ukrainian Festival in Toronto, and I discovered to my surprise that it had a pair of rubber manipulatory gloves sticking inward through the walls, like those used to handle radioactives in isolation. Could those have been the source of ‘the clutches’?
I have heard that our first memories date from the moment where we start thinking as individuals, separate from the world. Looking at the responses in this thread, I’m not so sure now…
I vaguely remember the upstairs of my aunt’s house, but my first real memory is of seeing the video for “Thriller” (I must’ve been, what, four?) and hiding behind a chair.
I have two early memories. One, when I was about 2-1/2, there was a hailstorm. My parents were houseparents at a boarding school dorm where my dad taught, and I remember one of the girls bringing these HUGE hailstones to show me. At least golf ball sized. It was very impressive.
The other one was of when I was about 3, standing at my mom’s knee (I’m pretty sure this is a real memory because of my perspective in it) and asking her why she was crying. She said, “Your Grandpa Donnelly died.” I didn’t really understood what she meant, but I remember how upsetting it was seeing her that upset.
Some of you people are annoyingly young; your first memories are from when I was in my twenties.
Mine is another injury story: we were at my grandmother’s place in Memphis, and there was a backyard merry-go-round. (Don’t know if they still make these: it had four seats in which kids could sit, and by pushing and pulling on pedals and handles, make the contraption rotate pretty fast.) I stood too close and took a kid’s shoe in the forehead. I also remember going to the hospital with my head in my mother’s lap, a wet washcloth on my forehead, and being stitched. Still got the scar.
My first memory is actually a dream I had when I was about 2. I was in a cave and then from out of a hole in the ground leapt three huge breasts that began to chase me. It still makes me laugh to this day.
My earliest memory was of being bored, lying on the seat of a car looking up at the gables of a house I later recognized as my grandparent’s. It must have been before being able to turn over or anything, because I was so bored I wanted to do anything but lie there, and couldn’t change position enough to do so. – weird memory, but my earliest one.
My earliest memory is falling down the stairs at home. Mum and dad were both working, so my grandma was taking care of me. She was in the living room and ran out to me after she heard me land of the floor. I didn’t start crying until she started asking me if it hurt.
Another traumatic one here. I was old enough to walk, but was crawling at the time, across the backyard, where my older sister was swinging on one of those swings with a big oak plank for a seat. I crawled up behind her and stood up just as she swung back. The seat of the swing cracked me right in the forehead.
My mother was getting her hair done at the time, and my father was watching us kids. As he was running out the back door to investigate my screams, the phone rang–my mother was calling for him to pick her up. I think he grabbed me first, then ran back in to answer the phone. I vaguely remember lying in the back seat with a bloody towel wrapped around my head while we went to pick up my mother.
My first happy memory is probably from my thirties.
Possibly my earliest memory is more of a “feeling” of a small, dark house with a very old lady clothed in a dark dress with lots of buttons down the front, and something kinda lacy on her head. I have since been told that I was taken to visit my great-grandmother every week until she died in 1961, when I was 18 months old. I was told that she was very prim and proper, very old-fashioned, and I adored her.
My earliest “definite” memory is of being in the back of a car which was stuck in a snowdrift … apparently this happened when I was two and on my way to hospital for an op - don’t remember anything about the hospital/op though, although I do have the scar!
My earliest memory is of my grandfather and eating pancakes with him in this recliner he would sit in all the time. I was around 2, as he died when I was 2 1/2. Oddly enough, I don’t remember anything about his death.
I remember standing between my parents and looking at the Christmas tree lights reflected in our living room window. I’m told that we had a Christmas tree in that house only once, when I was nineteen months old.
After that – some scattered memories from day care when I was about two and a half, fairly detailed ones from about age three onward.
I remember walking down the eisle of a 747 just before it took off for Honolulu from San Francisco. I must have been only two or three when that happened.
SnoopyFan, I also have pancakes as my earliest memory! Age two, my Dad took me to the local McDonalds to get pancakes for breakfast. I was excited, I’d never been there for breakfast before.
Yet I have vivid memories of playing in my crib with a white teddy bear that had a red wind-up music box in it. I would un-zip the back to get at the music box. My parents confirmed this, but I was the one who brought it up.
Another memory was where my mother placed her rocker when she nursed me. She never told me this, I told here where the rocker used to be and she was very surprised that I would have known this. FWIW she placed the rocker in front of the bedroom door, almost in the adjacent closet door, so nobody could walk in on her while she was nursing.
My earliest memories, age two, invovled excitement and fear. The first was chasing big ducks in the back yard; the second was standing on the beach holding my mother’s hand. The water shifting the sand under my feet freaked me out. I was standing on something solid that all of a sudden wasn’t.
My earliest confirmed memory is a bit of image, like an old home movie. I described clearly to my parents what I thought I saw, looking over the edge of the old-style pram stroller. They were shocked. Apparently the color of garage door I described was changed when I was less than a year old, and so my earliest memory is from then.
Cool ! Of course, everything else is a blur up to the age of 15 when I first fell in love.
