Day Four – Earliest Childhood Memory

It is believed that people’s earliest memories can often be traced back to age 2.5 ^[1].  According to David Copeland, Ph.D., “It might be difficult to pinpoint the one true ‘earliest memory’ for anyone.” Copeland also stated that early memories—even those reconstructed from external sources beyond what’s in our minds—can also play an important role in constructing the overall narrative of your life.  “For example, whether someone truly remembers the experience of falling off of a tricycle at age 3 or they learn about it from family members’ stories or from seeing pictures, it might not matter—as long as the event actually happened, it can be a part of one’s life narrative.”

Sitting here thinking about childhood memories, I recall photos from my first birthday which I have no recollection of.  I see photos of early holidays…my dad carrying me down the steps on Christmas morning…the table set for Easter dinner…playing in the snow and building “Fort Marvin” with my Aunts Pam and Jill…playing with them in a blow-up kiddie pool and Pam had a broken arm.

If  2.5 is the age when we may be able to recall memories then maybe the memory of looking at my baby brother in his bassinet is real, or it could be that I remember the photo of me looking at him.  Playing these photos and memories over in my mind, I decided I am going to write about a different memory…not my earliest, but one when I was eight years old.  I am choosing this one because it is one of my most vivid memories.  I am certain there are no photos to remind me of the event, yet I can picture it, smell it, and describe it as if it was yesterday.

I was fortunate in my childhood to have 2 sets of grandparents and 2 great-grandmothers.  One great-grandmother we called jet-grandma because she traveled, and we often had to take her to the airport to catch a plane.  Later in her life, my grandma Gehrlein also traveled.  She would take me with her on Anderson Tour bus excursions and she traveled twice to the “Holy Land”, including Gaza.  I’m certain back in Warren, Ohio, in boxes yet unpacked, I still have the beads made of olive wood that she brought me.  With two traveling grandmas, maybe the apple doesn’t fall too far.

Wednesday morning, December 30, 1970.  I was eight years old.  My brother and I were normally only allowed to eat on the floor in front of the television for Saturday morning cartoons.  All other meals were eaten at the dining room table.  That table now lives in my condo in Warren.  I’m not sure if it was because it was Christmas break or because of the situation that was evolving that we were eating breakfast in front of the TV.  I can picture our living room with the knotty pine paneling, the floor-model television, an avocado green stereo console, a large armchair, the couch behind us, a rocking chair beside us, and the giant live Christmas tree between the living room and dining room in front of the wall clock that I still have.  I was eating a bowl of Gerber’s baby food oatmeal.  I loved that stuff and ate it up into my teens. My brother, I am sure was eating some sugar-coated cereal like Captain Crunch.

My grandpa Gehrlein was in the hospital.  He had heart issues and also suffered from diabetes.  We had visited him on Christmas day at the hospital.  He had given me the first of my Madame Alexander Little Women Dolls. Our parents had been to the hospital that morning.  Our Aunt Dorothy, who lived with us, was home taking care of me and Mark.  When my parents came home, I remember getting up and running to my dad.  He picked me up.  He was wearing a black fisherman knit sweater, he rarely wore a coat, and I can still smell his “Old Spice” aftershave.  I could see that my mother was or had been crying.  That’s the moment we learned that our grandfather (my mother’s father) had died.

I don’t remember anything else about that day or the following days.  We had his funeral on January 1, 1971.  The only thing I recollect about that is that was the first time I remember having to deal with death.

I don’t know why that is such a vivid memory except,  according to Theresa L. White, Ph.D., “People often say that the sense of smell conjures up memories so well that they feel as if they were experiencing the event again,”  It is believed that memories of odors can be a backdrop to an emotional state.  To this day, I only need to see an advertisement for or a display of Old Spice, and I can recall how it smells and a memory of my dad.

My life is filled with memories, happy and sad, the stories of my life.  The older I get, the more I travel making memories along the way…the more I realize what a gift they are.  As Chief Seattle said, “Take only memories, leave only footprints.”

[1] Peterson C. What is your earliest memory? It depends. Memory. 2021;29(6):811-822. doi:10.1080/09658211.2021.1918174