What is most treasured childhood memory? Where were you, what were you doing, and who was there?
I was five or six years old. I was under a tree reading my book. My father was in the rice fields determining when to get the crew to harvest the rice.I loved the color of the ripe grains, it was gold. I loved being with my father.
I was in the living room of my home, holding up three fingers because someone had asked how old I was. I was leaning back on my father's legs.
I have a couple, but the one that is most vivid and that I have included in my writings most often is: Holidays in my house were wonderful and my mother always made sure we had an amble supple of "Sweet Potato Pies". She was a champion pie maker but we all looked forward to Thanksgiving and Christmas and Sweet Potato Pie. One Thanksgiving my sister and I got up much earlier than anyone else in the house. We went into the kitchen and spotted several pies and cakes sitting on the counter. The Sweet Potato Pie seem to call us....we thought "just one little, itty, bitty, tiny piece woundn't hurt. So we cut a small piece and just as we started to our mouths with the fork our mom entered. She had a look of "you are in trouble" and I started to cry....but instead of scolding us she got a fork and cut a larger piece of pie and we laughed and ate pie until we were giddy. That began a new tradition because each Tranksgiving morning there after the 3 of us began the day eating SP pie. Even after we were grown and moved away whenever we were visiting on Thanksgiving...that is the way we begin the day.
Hi. If you are a Nonna, then there must be some Italian or Sicilian blood involved. Further, if you are a Nonna, I see Pasta Fagiole and Gnocci on your table, not Potatoe Pie. I know there are Southern Italians, but that's waaaay south!
This is such a touching story! What a great mom.
What a wonderful tradition your mom started that day.
Billrrrr, my dad was Italian and talked about his Nonna with such love that I always said if I ever have grandchildren I wanted to call me Nonna. My mother was from Louisiana and SP Pie was a receipe handed down. Our table was a cultural experienc
Nonnas are angels. My Nonna was the most special woman I have ever known. She raised eight kids by taking in sewing. She was magical; spinning sauce, pasta, Sicilian pizza & chocolate bars from seemingly nowhere.
Some of the sweetest memories I have are of playing in the woods behind our house with my brothers. There was what we called a pond back there, but it was really more like a big mud puddle.
One day we went out there and the pond was almost dried up. Everywhere we looked there were tadpoles stuck in the mud, or trying to survive it the small amount of muddy water that remained.
We spent the entire day carrying buckets of water out to the pond and bringing them back, full of tadpoles to our plastic wading pool. It was hard work, but we continued till it was too dark, rescuing as many as we could.
Over the next several weeks we watched as they grew legs and went off on their own. It was well worth all the work, and giving up our wading pool, for that sense of accomplishment we got from saving those little frogs.
My cousins and I were sitting on the front porch of my granny and granddaddy's old 2 story house eating watermelon and singing George Strait Songs.... LOVED IT!!!!
I remember one day my Dad, who was really good at painting and drawing, spent some time just sitting with me and drawing. I must have been three or four. Usually my mum would have some job or other for Dad to do, or he'd be hiding from her with his model train set in the garage. He was teaching me how to draw a sailor, I think. It sounds like such a little thing to have such a lovely memory of, but I remember how special I felt that he was just sitting in my room and we were quietly drawing together, while the usual noise of the rest of the household went on around the house. Sad actually, that there were so few moments like that. Makes me appreciate all the time I get to spend doing fun things with my kids.
Interesting the three of us remember things with our fathers. Mine was just his mere presence and leaning back on his legs. Seems like we all valued time with Dad.
It just goes to show how much little things stick with a kid, things we adults may not give a second thought to.
It's difficult to pick just one treasured memory from my childhood. I have a lot. But if I have to narrow it down then I would have to say that at least one of my most treasured memories is when my brother and I would play army men. We had the green and tan army men toys from back in the day and we would turn our living room into a battlefield. We would build bunkers out of blocks and we would each have a large bag of rubber bands. We would place our army men all over the place and we would blow each other away for hours. It was great.
Alot of my childhood memories are of camping. I grew up with my dad and my brother and we spent alot of time camping with our best friends family. So it was me and 4 boys. I remember climbing down cliff faces, doing acts by the camp fire, and even once when i slipped and went down the waterfall and one of the boys caught me and saved me.
Best days ever.
All my fondest early, childhood memories go back to an old white, wooden bench on my Granny's front porch. She raised me from a baby until I was eight years old and that's where we shared goodies, played cards, had in depth conversations about what was proper and what wasn't in life and established a loving relationship, like no other I've ever known, that lasted 'til the day she died.
never did know either grandmother. My dad's mom died when he was a teen. My mom's mom died when I was 2...I try to be what I would have wanted my grandmothers to be and I have a front porch...LOL This was great.
I can see why that's your most treasured memory.
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