Two, and I don't know which is earlier.

I have a memory of Hurricane Betsy, which hit the New Orleans area in September, 1965. I recall more that my parents were worried than anything else (since they are Yankees, they never had been in a hurricane), but there are a few images in my brain.

I also remember being taken to Mardi Gras and riding on my dad's shoulders. I don't know if that was the Mardis Gras before or after Betsy. Probably after, but I can't say for sure.

I was three when Betsy hit.

13-14 months old,
I figured out that instead of waiting for somebody to lower the crib an get me out , I could just climb ,the hell over and climb down ,
I was pretty elated with myself.

Then scooted down the wooden stairs ,backward.

My sister pret near fainted.

Mom shook her head and giggled a bit.

Taking my dog to the vet, watching it walk through the door, never seeing it again, and being told it was going to live on a farm. I was between 2 and 4 years old, and know that because my younger brother was alive and all pictures of the dog were in the house I lived in from age 0 to 4. Years later, I learned that the dog had developed Rage syndrome and had already turned on my Mom and Dad. My parents were afraid it'd turn on my brother and I so the dog was rightfully euthanized.

The funniest and oldest memory occurred at the bottom of the stairs in the home that I lived from age 4 to 18. I was picking my nose, and my younger brother looks up at me with puppy dog eyes and says, "Can I have it?" By "it," he meant the booger. Much to my brother's chagrin, I've told that story at many family get togethers.

I was about four years old. This would have been 1954. We were sitting in our living room visiting with a neighbor lady and her husband. Back then women with tatoos were almost non-existent. The lady had a series of numbers tatooed on her arm. I remember walking over to her and asking why she had numbers on her arm. I remember my mother seemed upset that I asked the question. The lady told my mother no worries. She would be glad to explain. She said the Nazis gave her the tatoo at a place in Germany where she used to live. She said she didn't want to get it, but was forced to. I don't know why I remember it so well, because I was really to young to understand the significance. I do recall that the incident came up a few times again as I grew older and learned more about history.

I just have been 2 or 3 I remember climbing out of my crib and running into my parents bedroom and jumping into the bed between them. They separated/divorced when I was about 3 so it was prior to that. It's also the only memory I have of them together.

My blanket caught fire in the space heater. I started crying. Don’t remember anything else about that. Don’t know how old I was.

I have a vague memory of a can of dog food falling on my big toenail and cracking it. Nail is cracked to this day. I had to have been 2 at most.
That was about 1950. Parents always told me I cried and said "it was Puddy food" that fell on my toe. Our dog was English pointer "Spud"

For me it is an image of me standing in the far corner of my front yard, looking down the street and calling my dog. In the days when your dog could roam the neighborhood. I would guess I was about 3 years old. 1958 or so.

My first 6 years were in Elizabeth, NJ. I remember at age 3 being in a stroller, outside a Tompkins Ice Cream store, my dog Patty was with me. I remember her watching over me, no strangers could come close.

I recall my parents bringing home my baby brother. I was 3 years and 17 days old.
Mike

This message has been edited. Last edited by: mcrimm,

In a crib but I wasn't so small, I couldn't get out.

I wouldn't eat the liver I'd been served and was told I'd go to bed hungry. The food was left on a plate a few feet away and yes, I was hungry. I climbed out in the middle of the night, tried the liver but no, not happening. Back to the crib, the parents were disappointed in the morning. I remember feeling I'd won that skirmish. And so began a life of picky eating.

I have read some scientists theorize that our human memories are limitless. The problem is recalling those memories.

Not sure how old, but I have memories of being in a kiddie pool in the basement filled with hard beans as a stand in for sand and playing with Tonka construction trucks and toys.

Weather was bad for weeks and couldn't be outdoors in the sand box so mom came up with that idea so i could still play.

I'm not 100% certain, but, I think it was the time we were at my great aunt's and uncle's cottage on a lake (coincidentally, not from from where I now live). My parents had warned me to stay away from the water.

Right.

I went out to the end of their dock and, I recall not how, in I went. My father must've seen it right off. He rushed out, reached down, grabbed me by the hair of my head, and hauled me back up until he could get his other hand on an arm.

It is going under and feeling my father grab me by the hair and start pulling me up I recall most vividly.

Oddly enough: I do not recall being frightened. My recollection is more having been "This is interesting."

I remember shopping for a new car w/ dad. He had just been laid off and his mother was with us to help w/ the purchase. It was sunny and HOT on that car lot. I recall not having a good time.
Ended up with an '83 Oldsmobile Cutlass wagon.

I would have been not quite 3 at the time.

There may be some slightly earlier memories, but that's the only one I can pin down for sure.

-Rob

I was three and we were at some motor lodge in the Deep South on our way to Clearwater FL. I complained about pain in my hips and was limping. The family continued to our destination and luck would have it my folks knew a friend who was a doctor. He looked me over and told my folks to get me back to the fort sill hospital in Oklahoma where my dad was stationed.
I was diagnosed with Legg Perthes (a bone disease which affects predominantly juvenile males). I later developed it in both hips. Named after the two physicians who first dealt With the disease, makes the ball of the femur soft so that it becomes deformed or snaps off. treatment is time and keeping weight of the bone. Thus, began my four years of no walking, regular visits to the hospital for-rays to monitor the progress. I was put in a wheel chair, wore leg hardware decades before Forrest Gump. I was pulled around in a red wagon by my brother, I still hold a grudge with him since he was known to leave me out in the sun while he enjoyed the shade of trees.. As corrective measures to keep me from standing, I was placed in a feet to armpit body cast, the old heavy plaster kind. I did have an opening so I could pea and crap.
I didn’t take kindly to the bedpan and my body fought back. After one day, my mom ended up calling the doctor to report I didn’t have a bowl movement. She was told to give me an exlax. the same instruction was given the next day and the next. The fourth night about midnight, I called out to my mom that someone had thrown a bucket of water on me. I learned it wasn’t water. My dad covered me up with a blanket and moved me to the back of the family station wagon for the trip to the base hospital where the cast was cut off me and replaced with a new one.
When I turned seven, the doctors said I could begin learning to walk again.

My dad coming home from work (police) at the height of the Cuban Missle Crisis.
“Were going out to dinner tonight because it might be our last one”.

I have bits and fragments of a memory of a house we lived in in Portland. That would have put me at 3.5- 4 years old. That is just about as far back as I can go.

Falling off a neighbors monkey bars and hitting my head on the RR ties that outlined the sand box. I remember the sting of the needle when the doctor gave me the lidocaine before stitching me up. That was 1975, I was 3.

Looking up from a dining room table, watching my mother drink a glass of water.

I'm not even sure if it's real. Maybe I was four years old. It could just be an old dream.

I remember playing on a hardwood floor in a big, empty room. I had toy soldiers- Union and Rebs. Had my battle lines set up, and then my mom and dad came to the door and told me it was time to go. I know that memory is real. That was in Beaumont, Texas. I think maybe it was a house they were looking at.