Funny how the memory works…or doesn’t. The memories of early childhood amaze me. Not the memories themselves, but the randomness of what I do remember from birth to around age 5.
The earliest memory was from 18 months or younger. We were living in Germany, where I was born. I have this vivid memory of being dragged around the floor, while sitting on a rug. It was a kid or two doing the dragging. Don’t remember many details, just that it was enjoyable.
My next memories were to come from Houston Texas. We stayed with my paternal Grandmother while my dad attempted a return to college. Most of my Houston memories are on the negative side. I remember burning my bare feet on the sidewalk. I also remember sitting down on an anthill, and being rapidly carried to the bathtub by my mom.
I remember there was boy close to my age next door. His name is on the tip of my brain. I remember that we stood in our respective yards, facing each other. We then simultaneously “whipped it out” and began peeing toward each other. This little recreational activity was severely frowned upon by all of the grownups in out lives.
There was an older kid, a teenager maybe. His name was Homer. He mowed my grandmothers lawn and did other assorted errands.
I also remember that I had an imaginary pet when we lived in Houston. I used to talk to him. He was an elephant and his name was Pinky. I would usually talk to him when my grandmother was trying to nap.
I remember a trip to the circus. There were cannons that scared me. Don’t remember the clowns. Clowns never scared me. On a day at Galveston 
Beach, we had to run for cover during a rain storm. On our last day in Houston, a u-haul trailer was packed and ready for our drive to San Francisco. I was excited to show my new basketball to Aunt Mary and Uncle Jim, when we got there. I was pretty upset that I didn’t have it. I had to be constantly reassured that it was really in the trailer. The drive from Houston to San Francisco was quite the adventure. Don’t remember anything except for that a few nights passed, as I slept in the back seat. I don’t remember if we stayed at any motels. I can’t imagine my dad doing it in one shot. (my mom never had a drivers license)
A lot of people that I talk to say they can’t remember anything before age 6 or 8. I don’t know why some of this stuff has stayed with me. I forget what people told me yesterday.
I remember trivia, like the name of Mr Wilson’s dog on the old Dennis The Mennace tv series. Mr Wilson’s Dog?! How in the world did that get stuck in there? It was Fremont, but who cares? Why in the world can’t I remember something that will do me some good?
I can tell you that my babysitter in San Francisco,when I was 3 and 4, was named Esther, and her husband was Elmer. But remember to pick up some milk at safeway on the way home from work? Yeah right.
