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(Some Guy)   Post your favorite childhood memory(ies)   (google.com) divider line 277
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2607 clicks; posted to Main » on 04 Apr 2006 at 11:27 PM (8 years ago)   |  Favorite    |   share:  Share on Twitter share via Email Share on Facebook   more»



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2006-04-05 01:06:10 AM
A late //

The christmas in 1986.
We got every thing we asked for. It was so insane. My dad had sold his business and had lots of money at the time and spoiled us.

I woke up to a new three wheeler, a new rob roscop III board,
A Union bay jacket, a sony component system for my room, and a commodore 128 with games. I got a gang of new transformers, and a new TV for the computer. All of my brothers made out like bandits as well. I spent that whole day waiting to wake up. It was surreal. Made for the best childhood ever.

/parents owned a wrecking yard
//got to smash headlights every day.
///the adventures we had....
////growing up sucks.
 
2006-04-05 01:06:26 AM
Stretching out Sunday evenings watching television. After the usual kid's shows like Walt Disney presents I would endure grown up fare like Lou Grant since every minute of journalist drama was another minute of sleep and Monday morning delayed.
 
2006-04-05 01:10:50 AM
img95.imageshack.us
 
2006-04-05 01:13:34 AM
OK, I'll bite...

No one big memory, but lots of good small ones...

Watching the Apollo 11 landings on TV at the elementary school at Culver, IN...

Eating Oscar Mayer olive loaf and/or bologna sandwiches under the Gate Guardians (B-17, B-58, and I think a B-26) at Bunker Hill AFB (aka Grissom AFB) before heading back home to Culver...

Getting together with the neighborhood kids to play Red Rover, Kick the Can and whatever else we could think of in the playground in the middle of our block at Fort Knox...

Telling stupid ghost stories at the same playground...

Getting yelled at by a guard for climbing onto a tank at a Fourth of July display at Fort Knox...

My brother Mike hopping off the bus to buy donuts (including long johns) while on the way to St. James after Dad died... and then sharing them with his little brothers.

Dammit, are you trying to get me all misty-eyed???
 
2006-04-05 01:14:19 AM
When I was around 5 or 6, my dad started travelling for work. During one of his trips to Saudi Arabia, me, my mom, my brother and my sister all watched Lawrence of Arabia in my parents bedroom, on their nice bed. Mind you, the outside temperature was about -20 degrees Fahrenheit, so we were a bit jealous of him.
 
2006-04-05 01:17:00 AM
A couple more....

My cousin Bobby convinced me we could float in cardboard boxes. There was a faucet in their basement so we turned it on and tried to float. It didn't work. Aunt Evelyn lightly paddled us with a rubber flip-flop sandal and I went home and told my mom that she beat me with a shoe.

When my dad taught me to ride a bike, I was so proud. I road a long way thinking he was still holding on, but I turned around and saw him standing far away, smiling. Of course I fell over, but it was still great.

Finally, my friends and I played 'Name That Tune' when we were at the pool. We'd all go sit on the bottom and one would sing, and the rest would try to guess the song. This was all underwater, so you can imagine how that ended up. We also learned not to jump off the high dive in our 1970's bikinis, because dirty little boys would be watching with goggles to see our tops or bottoms get pushed up, depending on how we dived in. They would now be dirty old 40-somethings.
 
2006-04-05 01:17:02 AM
GreenSlime: "Well 99% of childhood ranged from Meh to Suckatude, but that 1% was awesome."

Amen to that. And when it was awesome, it was really and truly awesome.

One of my personal awesomes: Miniature golf at the Polynesian Putter, St. Pete Beach, with my dad and siblings, once a year, every summer.

/often have dreams about it, to this day
//what a cool idea for a thread
///enjoying reading the silly, the sad, and the bittersweet
////penis gourd
 
2006-04-05 01:17:29 AM
Though I do remember going fishing with my dad years and years ago. Little streams and ponds. Looking back at those times, and the person I am now, it's hard to imagine the things in between. How did it come to this.
 
2006-04-05 01:21:55 AM
Getting to work for Yosemite Park and Curry Company back in 1988 when I was a teenager. They had these employee tent cabins arranged in neighborhoods, and we lived right in the middle of the park.

Unbelievable to open my door in the morning and see the cliffs soaring overhead. I learned to climb that summer, spent every penny on beer, weed and climbing gear, and went from a total beginner to a 5.10b leader in one season, all trad. Many an epic, just about everything bad that could happen to climbers happened to us, we lost gear, retreated walls, got stuck overnight, got the holy bejesus scared out of us by rockfall and storms and long leader falls. We ended the summer doing the regular northwest route on Half Dome. It went perfectly, we'd learned the right skills by then.

I left the valley a totally changed person, having grown more in 4 months there than in 4 years of high school. Climbing had seemed a lot more real. On ledges and belay stances high above the trees, I found peace at last.

Today I hear they're moving the employees to a dorm so they can rent the cabins to tourists. End of an era, I was so lucky.

I still visit occasionally to climb. Walking near the cabins, smelling the unique scent of canvas and dust and pine trees, hearing the clink of shiny new gear as today's beginners cautiously start up their first 5.7 leads brings an indescribable feeling of joy.

The kids are like "who are you, old man?". And I just think "I'm you, kid".
 
2006-04-05 01:25:45 AM
I'd get up real early on Saturday mornings and get my bowl of Cheerios and turn on the tube. Then I would watch the color test pattern, waiting for the first show to come on - "New Zoo Review."

Then it was uninterrupted TV time until "Kukla, Fran and Ollie" came on. Not wanting to watch a foreign film about a little French boy and his red baloon, I would head outside and play whiffle ball, etcoontil dark.

Never told the parents where you were in those days of old. AS long as you showed up at dusk, all was OK.
 
2006-04-05 01:27:31 AM
anyone else feeling a bit homesick?
 
2006-04-05 01:27:58 AM
12:53:51 AM RoguePixie
I put my two front teeth through my bottom lip thinking I was Evil Knievel. I tried to take a jump on "Sun Country", the name of my brown and yellow bike with the gigantic banana seat. I'm in mid-air pulling up on my handlebars when my front tire flies off...

That's the other thing I was thinking of. Same sort of bike, I got a huge running start and jumped a gutter. I guess I had my foot on the brake because I landed and stopped cold. I gashed my chest on the handlebar stem and bent the handlebar over my back so I was locked in. I'll never know how that happened. I also chipped my tooth in that very same spot a couple years later.
When my dad found out I could use tools, he dumped my little sister's bike repairs on me, so the first time I had to fix her bike, I left the front wheel really loose so I might not be asked to do anymore repairs for her, but I got in big trouble instead. And once, after having been warned directly not to leave the school grounds and walk to the Holiday Inn to meet Evil Knievel, we went anyway, and didn't meet him, and got caught. Co-incidence, RougePixie? Probably.
 
2006-04-05 01:33:29 AM
I can't remember childhood. Then again I can't remember much of anything up until yesterday.

*takes another bong hit* ..ha whah?

Seriously though, there's usually something that will remind me, like my original copy of X-Men no. 6 (I think that's what it was), the one where Sub-Mariner joins the Evil Mutants. My dad insisted I have one of the originals, and knew I liked X-men, so that Christmas was really cool. And I have the scar on my chin to remind me of my pre-Jackass stupid stunt phase (around 8 or so).

Without physical reminders though, I remember nothing. Cannabis will do that I suppose...
 
2006-04-05 01:35:58 AM
strawbury78: "anyone else feeling a bit homesick?"

Oh yeah, very much so. I have to be up early tomorrow, so I can't read this whole thread right now, but I just can't stop. I'm really looking forward to having time to just sit and read everything tomorrow...but it's making me a little weepy.
 
2006-04-05 01:36:47 AM
Hanging out with my aunts and uncles when I was 4 was awesome. They'd take me to the park or the beach or the park with the beach and we'd throw the ball for which ever dog we brought and look for seashells and play with kelp that had washed up on the shore and zillion other things.

Another great thing from when I lived in Texas was playing until sundown by the creek and then riding my bike home barefoot on the warm pavement, listening to the bugs making noise.

I really miss the bug noise.
 
2006-04-05 01:37:47 AM
I remember when I was really young when everybody else was asleep I could hear voices, and my horrible reoccuring nightmares that have the same character in my dreams currently.

/serious
 
2006-04-05 01:44:08 AM
When I was about 7 years old my family and I went to Disney World on our first real family vacation. It being my first time at Disney World, it was my sole objective to get all of the autographics from all of the major Disney Characters in my nifty autography book. After about a week in all of the parks, I had made my rounds to all of the characters...all of them except for Goofy. Being the last day we were going to be in the parks, I was in a state of uncontrollable panic, when finally while we were leaving Magic Kingdom we come across Goofy. Finally, my collection that I had been desperately trying to complete would be finished. Well, until things starting getting a little violent.

To make a long story short, I had to wait in line for about 15 or 20 minutes to finally have my chance for a quick picture and an autograph. I eagerly hand my autograph book to Goofy, who takes the book from me, looks at the book, looks back at me and shakes his head no and hands the book back to me. What a mistake. Without missing a beat, in an instant moment of uncontainable rage, I instinctively draw my hand into a fist, wind up, and belt Goofy right in the nose, spinning his head a full 180 degrees. Only after the attendant fixed his nose did goofy FINALLY snatch my book from my hands and promptly dot his name in my book.

100% true story. I still have the book.
 
2006-04-05 01:47:21 AM
-There were about 40 acres of woods behind my house when I was growing up that my friends & I used to play in- it was owned by the developer who built 99% of the subdivision, and he used parts of it as a dumping ground for unused construction materials. There were abondoned pallets of bricks, cinder blocks, etc. for us to use to build forts. There was also an area with old abandoned barns, storage buildings, an airplane hangar, etc. Heaven when you're a kid.

-My Dad usually worked a second job at night when I was a kid. He would try to catch a quick nap in the afternoon before leaving for his other job - when I got home from school I would go lie on the bed next to him, and he would make up stories & tell them to me. He would pretend to fall asleep (complete with ridiculous cartoon-sounding snoring) when he got stuck for what was going to happen next, and I would laugh & shake him until he finished the story.

-Going to work with my Mom on snow days. She worked at a vet's office, and I spent the day playing with "April", the office guard dog - a 60-pound Alaskan Husky that would quite glady rip an intruder's face off, but was as gentle as a kitten with me.

-Sneaking into the basement rec room with my sisters the morning after one of my Dad's poker games and stealing sips of flat Blatz beer out of the short brown glass bottles - probably why I'm still not a big beer drinker to this day...
 
2006-04-05 01:48:11 AM
Racing my Supergoose at all the local tracks. BMX racing on the weekends. Riding all over the neighborhood jumping over anything in the way. Riding wheelies for blocks on end. Cliff jumping into the limestone quarry. Good times.

Guitar solo my senior year, high school talent show. Rockstar Bob was released on the world, even if only for a short time.
 
2006-04-05 01:50:42 AM
johaxin2

Why wouldn't Goofy sign the book?
 
2006-04-05 01:51:59 AM
When I was in Cub Scouts, my dad helped me with the obligatory "make a car out of a block of wood" race. He was very concerned with weight ratios and wheelbases, but not me. For me, my car had to have the little KIT lights in the front, just like Nightrider. It was the KEY to speed I thought.. nevermind the specifics. I honored the hours my dad spent shaping and sanding it but basically dipping it in black paint and putting a red smudge on the front. Awesome. We won first place.


/Dad is a mechanical engineer
// It was the paint that did it though
 
2006-04-05 01:52:27 AM
strawbury78, I always feel a little bit homesick... but I think I good childhood will do that to you.

Trying to ride bikes (one-speeds!) 12 miles out of town & back... and realizing how far that actually is...

But doing it on a beautiful June day, it didn't seem so dumb....

Buying (for fifty cents) two basketfuls of bullheads to clean and eat on the way back... and carrying them home in the same bike baskets I carried my newpapers in!!!

Simply kicking back on the porch and breathing in the sweet summer air...

Exploring the little nooks and crannies of the 1st Lutheran Church...

Tunneling into the 4-foot drifts of hard-packed, wind-driven snow behind the house to create an honest-to-God snow cave... back when we had winters in Minnesota...

My first crush... (she shall remain nameless, for fear of emabarrasing her, even at this late date... *smile*)...

99% "meh & suckatude..."? Sorry, GreenSlime & Goose, I gotta disagree. Despite all the considerable shiat I had to deal with... it was a lot better than that.
 
2006-04-05 01:55:45 AM
Lived in a small town in Illinois.
I can remember riding bikes with my neighbors all day long all over town, during the summers and weekends, and not coming home until the street lights went on...was probably somewhere between ages of 5-10. Also with the same neighbor kids we would act out Dukes of Hazzard or Grease ( I always had to be Daisy or Sandy ), I would put my record of Grease on my little suitcase style record player and we would set up a stage and act out all the songs. I really miss those guys.

Also the best thing was in the summer and Tastee Freeze was open and our family had a little extra $ (we were kinda poor), my dad would tell everyone to get into the car and we would go get ice cream, then drive through the country while eating it.

/miss my dad:(
 
2006-04-05 01:55:57 AM
My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds -- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking -- I highly suggest you try it.
 
2006-04-05 02:03:01 AM
Hurtling down larger-than-life hills of packed wet snow on a cheap plastic sled with all the kids in the neighborhood - leaping off the snow-ramps we made and crashing down laughing. And the final added excitement of figuring out how to stop before you hit the barbed wire fence -right- at the bottom!

(feels sorry for all those raised in the south - winter is the best season for being a kid!)

//running around barefoot in the snow screaming head off at new year's with my friends too!
 
2006-04-05 02:03:57 AM
When I was 7 my father took me to a lunch meeting with the great animator Chuck Jones. Even at that age I knew it was pretty cool.
 
2006-04-05 02:07:17 AM
One summer, when I was visiting my grandparents, my grandpa surprised me by saying that he thought he had a good place for a tree house. He gave me some paper and told me to sketch a design.
By the end of the week, it was complete, including a 99 year lease that we wrote out for the small square of land under the three trees supporting it with a really official looking ribbon on the bottom and our signatures. I think I was 7.
These days, my grandpa is no longer with us, and the tree house is sitting on the forest floor. The deed is MIA but I have a lithograph of an ink drawing by my great aunt which is one of my most prized possessions. I wish I still had that deed though.
 
2006-04-05 02:09:02 AM
I kicked ass on the Bozo show. Bozo called me "Squirrelly". Then he molested me. Kidding about the molesting thing. RIP Bozo.

It was Cookie.

I remember cutting through the cars in the Soldiers field parking lot, pretending I was Walter Payton after a Bears game.

My dad, who doesn't watch or care about sports, used to take me to White Sox games all the time. Just 'cause he's cool like that. I loved Ozzie, Pudge and Harold and always wanted to see them play the Royals with George Brett.
 
2006-04-05 02:09:51 AM
My happiest memories from childhood have to be before I was in school, I would be up at 9 am everyday and my mom would always be cooking pancakes or waffles. The house always smelled so nice.

Then at night on thursdays, my parents would let me and my brother stay up until nine (gasp!) to watch This Old House and Mystery on PBS. I love Sherlock Holmes, Puerot, and Cadfile. There were probably a couple more but I can't remember all of them.

Later in life I would always hang out with my brother and we would ride into town on our bikes with our best friends and go to hobby stores to feed our Warhammer 40,000 addiction. That and frequent candy store visits.

And one last one, we went to Disney World and while we were there, we met Steven Spielburg. I found out his sons name was Max too. Coolness.
 
2006-04-05 02:12:53 AM
I was in Navy boot camp. Yes, I was 18 years old, but I was still a boy. I had a hard-working father and a dedicated stay-at-home mother. I had never worked for anything, never been responsible for anything, never been exposed to any hardship greater than boredom, never faced any punishment greater than annoyance, never earned respect for any accomplishment other than dumbed-down paperwork exercises. Considering the circumstances how could I have been other than a boy?

My bunkmate Steve was 18 too, but he was a man. He was abandoned by his good-for-nothing parents before he was into his teens. He dodged foster care and drifted about the city on his own, variously living with friends or on the street. He had his first woman when I was learning how to masturbate. He won the status of emancipated minor, had a job and his own apartment when I was begging my dad to up my allowance so I could buy more D&D books. Through supreme effort he barely managed to graduate from high school when I barely graduated in spite of making no effort at all.

We were mismatched. You would think he would have wanted nothing to do with me, but he actually took an interest in me. It wasn't friendship, but more like curiosity. To him I was like some kind of unnatural accident, as though you met a toddler who could discuss nuclear physics...

Long intro, but you've got to know the context. I had broken one of boot camp's petty regulations. I did it thinking no one was watching, but someone was. The infraction was duly reported and now it was Collective Responsibility time. The whole company was looking at "intensive training" because of me. And they were pretty hostile.

I could deal with the company not talking to me, except Steve. I had to bunk with this guy and I couldn't take his hard eyes boring into me. So I approached him. "I'm sorry," I said

His face took on a real scary look and he snapped, "You're not sorry! If you were sorry, you wouldn't have done it!" And that was the end of whatever companionship me and Steve had. I didn't have the guts to talk to him again for fear of catching something more intense than intensive training.

This has always stuck with me. It was the first important lesson of my life. It was the first time anyone ever rejected my apology, and it was the last time I ever apologized. Steve was right. I wasn't sorry. I've never been sorry for anything I've done, and I don't think the emotion exists in normal people. In my cushy, consequence-free childhood, "sorry" was just a code word to utter in order to pacify those I had offended, an empty ritual to cover up sordid feelings like fear and chagrin. In this light I now know why Steve reacted as though I had spat in his face. In his world, "sorry" is worthless and the consequences of your actions visit you without mercy. And here I was expecting him to back down and forgive what I had brought on him as nicely as though he were my mother!

Contrary to my upbringing, I have found it is better never to apologize. People respect you more if you own what you do. Looking an offended man in the eye and saying, "I did it because I felt like it" or, "I said it because that's what I think" can lead to hard feelings, but when you make a habit of it people rarely care to question you. Even authority figures despise culprits who meekly whine, "I'm sorry!" but if you look at him like he's a big dummy and say slowly and clearly, "I did it because I expected to get away with it" he'll respect you more. (I later did exactly this--and got promoted for it.)
 
2006-04-05 02:18:02 AM
Well, I think the spell is broken now... but I enjoyed reading a lot of the posts.

G'night all...
 
2006-04-05 02:22:10 AM
I remember running after the ice cream man. I always got snowcones, but because I have sensitive teeth, I had to punch them until they were pulverized before I could eat them. By the middle of summer, my middle finger knuckle on my right hand had a snowcone callus.

My best friend Ian had a little brother, Jimmy, who was my little brother's best friend. We had competing forts, and spent a lot of time spying on each other's forts. Then, of course, we'd all get together to eat lunch before becoming tremendous enemies again.

I also had a great time cleaning house with my mom. Sounds pathetic, but it was really cool. She would blast 80's music and we'd sing really loud while sweeping and folding laundry and dancing, with all the windows and doors open and sunlight streaming in.
 
2006-04-05 02:22:39 AM
ShannonKW,

Nice story... matches well with my dad telling me once "sorry isn't good enough."

I threw that back in his face during a later argument, but I wonder if he realizes that it was the best lesson he ever taught me.

I'll probably never tell him.
 
2006-04-05 02:26:08 AM
My maternal grandparents owned a repair shop where my grandad mainly worked on lawnmowers and chainsaws with the occasional golf cart or go-cart. My grandmother worked the desk and all of the paper work. I spent alot of summer days walking around the shop mooching soda and oatmeal pies they sold. I had spent some of the prettiest summer days there.

One time my grandad fixed a go cart and let me test drive it; I ended up in the ditch. Needless to say I never drove again for years.

I also credit the shop with my love of the smell of motor oil and gasoline.
 
2006-04-05 02:26:41 AM
who else had a
upload.wikimedia.org
ColecoVision?
 
2006-04-05 02:28:26 AM
My dad was a Green Beret and a Ranger, Airborne. He was gone a LOT. When he came home, we'd all run to help him take off his boots. Sounds funny, but it was a special thing we could do for him.

And he would read us "Where the Wild Things Are" over and over again...and he sang in his basso profundo voice all kinds of Gilbert&Sullivan tunes an Irish pub songs...he was just awesome.

I read "Where the Wild Things Are" to my newborn at my dad's grave three weeks ago. That was very profound and important. (To me, probably not to her).
 
2006-04-05 02:30:58 AM
I had no kids my age in my neighborhood, and all of my friends weren't within walking distance. My parents had to set up "playdates" during the weekend if I wanted any sort of social interaction.

Needless to say, I spent most of my time reading books, playing NES, and wishing I were older.

My childhood sucked :(
 
2006-04-05 02:34:41 AM
When I was very little, my father liked for me to comb his thick, red hair. Everyday he would get home from work at the factory and I would comb the dust out of his hair. One day after he came home, I was watching tv and told him that I wasn't going to brush his hair today. He left the next day, and I haven't seen him since.
I'm 18 years old, and sometimes I still think it's my fault.
 
2006-04-05 02:34:43 AM
Many fond childhood memories.

Running after kites lost in 'kite wars' in Sai Kung, in Hong Kong - almost drowning in a vast pool of pig shiat and swill trying to get one stuck in fencing, and me trying to reach it with a long bamboo pole.

Sleeping on the balcony on a warm lazy afternoon.

Shopping with my gran, pestering her for fish-sticks.

Climbing trees - being rushed to hospital after once falling and landing on my head; playing in the jungle-like areas of Sai Kung, collecting berries, and fruits; catching tadpoles and dragonflies.

Playing marbles until late at night, coming home filthy.

So many great memories.

One kinda sad one:

My older sister and I grew up with my grandmother in Hong Kong. I knew my mother was in the UK working. I never knew a father.

Once in pre-school, the teacher once asked the class whose fathers smoked.

A vast majority raised their hands. Somehow feeling left out, and somehow spontaneous, I raised my hand up too.

I suddenly realised to an emotional extent that I never had before: that I didn't have a father, and if I did, I had no idea whether he smoked or not. I didn't know anything about him.

Thankfully, as a pretty carefree child, it never registered to the level of sadness or anything like that. I just knew that my family setup was different. That was the first ever time.
 
2006-04-05 02:49:15 AM
I struggle to find a pleasant memory. Odd...
 
2006-04-05 02:49:18 AM
Hey, a Dukes of Hazzard ashtray
Oh yeah, I bought it on eBay
Wanna buy, a PacMan Fever lunchbox
Wanna buy, a case of vintage tube socks
Wanna buy a Kleenex used by Dr. Dre
Found it on eBay

Sorry, this is all I can think of now.
 
2006-04-05 02:52:50 AM
Although, I have some great memories. I need to spend more time remembering my childhood, but one of my favorite memories is when I went camping with my dad and a few of his friends (who brought along kids roughly my age). We went fishing together, explored the woods, and collected mushrooms. That memory is beautiful.

I never got much into bike-riding until later, and I hated sports, so that isolated me a little from my peers. My best memories are with my parents and my brothers. I enjoyed and still enjoy, more than anything, researching and observing the natural world around me. I would spend hours watching, and learning about the insects and birds and plants. The first book I had ever bought with my own allowance was the "Dinosaur and other Prehistoric Animal Fact-Finder". I still read it today when I have trouble sleeping.


My parents are great. I love them to death. Growing up with a loud, argumentative jewish mother and a passive, philosophical father was a real trip.

By most farkers standards, I'm still growing up (only 18). I don't miss my childhood, but I certainly do get misty-eyed thinking about the positive memories.
 
2006-04-05 02:57:43 AM
i find all memories, even the good ones, sad
/am i alone on this?
 
2006-04-05 03:02:41 AM
In 1971, my dad's little brother came back to the States after a tour of duty in Vietnam. It took him a while to sort of ease back into regular life. After a few months of his living alone in an apartment and waking up the neighbors in the middle of the night with screaming nightmares, my dad invited him to live with us so he and my mom could keep an eye on him.

For the longest time, my uncle was afraid to fall asleep, so he'd spend most nights awake watching TV. I'm something of a night owl myself (even at 6 years old, I was a night owl), so I would sneak out of my bedroom at 1 am, go to his room and watch TV with him. Back then, KTVU/Channel 2 in San Francisco used to show horror movies every night ("Creature Features"). I have some fantastic memories of watching old Lon Cheney and Bela Lugosi movies while snuggled into my uncle's side on a fold-out bed, eating ice cream sodas. God, I love brown cows -- root beer floats are the best.

I used to fall asleep in front of the TV all the time, too, and I wondered why my parents never said anything about it next morning. It wasn't until many years later that my uncle (now a successful businessman with a beautiful wife and sons in Fremont) told me that my parents knew, and that my being there was just about the only thing that let him feel safe enough to get some sleep. I hate to admit it, but his pain gave me some of the best childhood memories I have.
 
2006-04-05 03:04:12 AM
Hmm...childhood was so odd for me. On the one hand, I have an extremely dysfunctional family and we were pretty poor. My dad was in business for himself, and he's a VERY poor businessman. On the other hand, the business he was in at the time was restaurant equipment, including video game cabinets and the occasional soda machine. So when I was in first grade, we lived in a house that was so awful and termite infested that my mother once fell through the bathroom floor, but at the same time we had an original Space Invaders cabinet, an arcade cabinet of a wire frame tank game (I think it was called "Battle Zone") and an old-school style Coke machine (the kind with the glass door and the metal clips that locked around the coke bottles until you put the money in) on our glassed in back porch. Until my dad sold them, the free arcade games made my brother and I the most popular kids on the block.

A few other shining moments...

When I was very little, about two, my parents and maternal grandparents decided to buy a house together. For a while, before my father got completely fed up with living with his in laws and walked out on my mother, I had the four grown ups I most adored living with me all the time. My grandfather and I were always the first ones up, we would get up at six am, he would make me a bowl of fruit loops and turn on Sesame Street, sometimes watching it with me while he drank his coffee. He would always praise me when I counted along with the TV, or spelled, or read the words on the screen. Around that same time, my father taught me to speak pig latin, and I became fluent in it around the same time I became FLUENT in English.

When I was four, I contracted viral menengitis, and they didn't know if I was going to live. My father had left by then, and my mother, one-year-old brother and I still lived with my grandparents. My grandparents were determined that, since they didn't know if I would live, while I was in the hospital, I would have ANYTHING I wanted. I was so sick most of the time that I didn't want much, but I did ask for a talking dolly that I had seen on TV (this was back when talking dollies were fairly new to the market), and my grandmother ended up driving two and a half hours to find a store that had the specific dolly I wanted in stock. I kept that doll for a very, very long time.

The worst part of that memory is that the whole time I was in the hospital, my daddy never came to see me. I didn't find out until much later that the reason for this was that while working on a car, he had a car battery blow up in his face, spraying him with battery acid. He didn't suffer any permanent damage from it (other than some mild scarring), but for a while he had a hard time seeing, and for a long time, his face was badly burnt. He was living over sever hours away at the time, pretty much alone, so until his eyesight recovered, he couldn't make the drive to where I was, and after his eyesight got better, they were afraid that his acid burned face would scare me. I still wish he would have come.
 
2006-04-05 03:07:42 AM
Summer and Autumn in the mountains of NC. My Dad was a big time astronomy nerd, and we would stay up all night long, eating ice cream, talking, listening to the Whiporwills, and reveling in the majestic mysteries of the leviathan night sky.

Lying on the bed with a languid sunbeam warming my back, while reading comic books on a lazy, chill Winters afternoon.

The movies, back in late 1960. People smoked in the theaters, but it was still a grand treat to catch a SciFi epic on a Sunday. In the balcony, we were as Gods.

Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday. Prettiest. Girl. Ever. My first real crush. I guess that was childhoods end.

/I miss the days when I used to be nostalgic
 
2006-04-05 03:11:21 AM
Riding bikes with my friend Sheila and sneaking into the Gravel Pit (no, we didn't die but I believe other kids did). Climbing the trees in front of my house. One time I climbed a tree wearing gumboots and got stuck so my Dad had to rescue me. Later he nailed these big metal "U"s in the tree so we could climb up & down easier. Just before the tree fell down I saw that the metal "U"s were totally grown over.

Watching my Grandpa carry driftwood up from the beach past our house to his, what looked like GIANT logs to me. He was a blacksmith at the gravel pit so the probably were giant. :)

Stopping at my Aunt's house on the way home from school and trying to call my Mom to let her know where I was but my Aunt was on a party line (last one in Victoria BC I bet) and I was too shy to butt in. I miss that..
 
2006-04-05 03:11:41 AM
^ "sever hours away" should have been "SEVEN hours away"
 
2006-04-05 03:12:47 AM
jeden: i find all memories, even the good ones, sad
/am i alone on this?


Definately not. I even had to wipe a somewhat un-manly drop from my eye while thinking back to things while reading this thread. There are somethings that you wish you could just remember with a childs innocence of the world.

Speaking of which, I can't believe I forgot to mention my first pet, Pussy Cat. Yeah yeah the name right? Well I was young and I liked it. I can still remember nights where he would jump up on my pillow while I was sleeping and just lay there all night. He lived to the grand old age of 20. I remember seeing him go down the stairs to the basement that night and he didn't come up for a long time. I got curious and went to check to see where he was. I found him lying on the floor. I didnt understand at first but then my dad came down and I saw his face and I started crying.

I know its supposed to be happy memories, but I had a lot of happy memories with that cat.
 
2006-04-05 03:51:57 AM
jeden:

I was thinking much the same thing. I was beating my brains to come up with a single happy memory from my childhood, but nothing stood out. It wasn't a bad childhood. Christmas, for instance, was always a big thrill, but I don't remember any particular Christmas. They're all smeared together. Now, bad memories are distinct. I remember incidents, such as my very earliest memory which was my mom crying because I had crapped my pants. (I was 14 at the time)
 
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