Author Topic: The Childhood Memories Thread  (Read 1925 times)

Offline Boingo the Clown

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The Childhood Memories Thread
« on: May 21, 2016, 02:29:12 AM »
I was a kid once.

I have no evidence of it, but I suspect you were a kid once too.

Despite the fact my life has been pretty much nothing but a grey blur, I still have childhood memories.

I'll bet you have childhood memories as well (provided you were not created ex nihilo at your current apparent age last Thursday).

This is the thread for posting your interesting childhood memories.

You don't have to post all of them at once.  One or two at a time will do.

I'll start.


Waaaaaaay back in that ancient time known as the '70s, I, being around 7 years old at this time, was standing in front of a vending machine outside the local IGA. The price of a pop was 25, and I was thirsty, and I just happened to have 25.

Lucky me.

So I plopped my money into the coin slot, and pressed my selection of choice.

Nothing happened.

I pressed it again.

Still nothing happened.

I became frustrated.  I reached up and pulled on the coin return lever to get my money back.

Nothing happened.

I knew I hadn't made a mistake.  I put in the correct amount of money, and the empty light wasn't on for my selection.

I tried pressing the button and tried pulling the return lever several more times.

Still no can of pop came rolling out, nor did my money come back.

I was getting pretty upset by this time.

Then it occured to me.

Perhaps the machine had vended my pop, but it just got caught somewhere inside the chute.

Perhaps if I put my hand into the chute, I could find my errant can and dislodge it, and have my tasty pop after all.

So I reached my hand up the chute a short way.

Nothing. I could feel the cold air inside the machine, but that was it.

I removed my hand and tried the button and the coin return a few more times, with no different results than before.

I inserted My arm up the chute again, this time all the way up to my elbow.

Still nothing.

I angrily paced back and forth in front of the machine.

I was not going to lose my money and not get the pop I paid for!

Do or die, I was going to have it!

I laid myself down on my side, and thrust my arm up inside the vending chute as far as I could possibly reach.

And then I felt it!

I felt a can!  It must have been my pop!  I was right!  It was just stuck, and now was my chance to set it free!

I poked the can.  I nudged the can.  I finally managed to wrap my fingers around the can!



That's when the store manager came out.



And there I was, lying on the ground in front of the machine with my arm jammed up the chute all the way to the shoulder.



"What are you doing?" said the manager, half asking, half demanding.



Now things could have gone south pretty badly at this point, but to ease your fears, I will tell you now that they didn't.


I withdrew my hand from the machine, stood up, and half in tears, half mad as hell, and half strangely calm (and don't you dare tell me that's more than 100%!) I told him about putting my money in, and not getting my pop, and how I could feel it stuck up inside.

And then things went right at last.  The manager pulled a key ring out of his pocket with more keys on it than I had ever seen on one ring before, and he chose the strangest looking key I had ever seen up until that point in my life. He opened up the machine, confirmed my quarter was in there, then asked, "What kind did you want?".

I told him my choice, and he pressed a button or lever inside the machine, and out came rolling out. (*Note: This is also the time I realized I had not found my pop stuck in the chute, but had actually reached up and grabbed one of the cans in one of the racks inside the machine.)

I am certain he probably told me never to do it again.  I am also certain I probably never heard him.  I was too thrilled to have that sweet cold can of pop in my hands at last.

Victory was mine!

What kind of pop was it?

I don't actually remember, but I'll wager it was orange.  I wasn't all that happy with cola, and I am certain it wasn't root beer ... because of another story I will tell you soon.

Offline Awesomedude249

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Re: The Childhood Memories Thread
« Reply #1 on: May 21, 2016, 11:29:28 AM »
I have one, but not many that come to my head at the moment.
I was about five at the time, and my siblings had a picture in the newspaper.
If I was taller, I probably would have been in it due to the fact that the tip of my hair was in the picture.
I used to be the new guy that no one talks to, now I'm just the vaguely familiar guy that no one talks to

Offline darkstone

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Re: The Childhood Memories Thread
« Reply #2 on: May 22, 2016, 08:22:19 PM »
I remember feeding a goat once at the local fair. I was tiny. A woman came up to me and asked me my name, she had a photo camera.

Next day, I was in the news.

Long time later - I was about 8. My dad and I were on the front porch picking pill bugs from below the rocks.
A news van pulled up and asked to interview us. Dad and I agreed. We were on the 5 PM news, catching june bugs in order to show us in our 'daily life' before the actual interview.

Ah, good times.

Offline Atariangamer

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Re: The Childhood Memories Thread
« Reply #3 on: May 22, 2016, 11:37:12 PM »
Oh man... I was going to talk about one thing, but instead will talk about another. Nobody in my family remembers this but me, and it's bloody strange that I do remember it so clearly. There's some discrepancies, but my memory says it happened like this.

My family lived in an old house that my grandfather built himself in the 70s. He sold it to my dad and mom, and I lived there from birth till we built a new home in late 1999. It was a two story house, with the master bedroom on the ground floor, and the other bedrooms on the second floor. It was close to winter time, and on this particular morning, my dad left early for work, my mom had worked a night shift, and my sister was either sleeping heavily, or absent (possibly at a friend's house). I was probably old enough to be in a bed, but I was in a crib. I couldn't tell you the year, or my age. But I woke up at what I thought was a normal time, but my mom wasn't there. Usually she would come, let me out of the crib, and start the day, but on this particular morning, she wasn't there, singing some sort of wake up song... of course, my family, it was a Christian tune... but I can hear it clear as day. Every morning for the first 10 years of my life.

Again, this was different. She wasn't responding. I called her name, cried a bit, wondered what happened... I can clearly see my closet in the corner, and know there's a chest full of my Duplo blocks and Hot Wheels and toy cars... I want to play! Its a beautiful morning, the sun is shining in the window outside my room door... I stand up, and resolve to open the crib. I've seen her do it before... you just squeeze these two pieces together, and then the side bars slide down. Easy. Well... easy for an *adult*, maybe. I'm a young kid (I mean, I have to be like... three or so, right?). I'm holding onto the corner of the crib with one hand, and trying my hardest to move the latches with the other. After trying for a while, success! The gate starts to slide... and then pinches the pointer finger on my left hand, which was holding the corner of the crib. Because I was barely strong enough to pull the latches, of course I couldn't hold it up as it fell. And the only thing stopping it from falling further was my now painful finger.

At this point, I'm starting to cry, and now yelling for my mama. After awhile, she comes running up the stairs, a little shocked that I had gotten so far. She was sort of apologizing for sleeping in late, and we go to the bathroom outside in the hall to clean it up and put a bandage on it. I remember the layout of that bathroom so well, mainly because of all the times we used Solarcaine for things like scrapes and burns that you get as kids. We go downstairs to have some breakfast, and decide to go visit my great grandmother's store.

It's not a long drive. I can't remember the car, but according to what my parent's have told me, we had a well equipped Dodge Intrepid at the time. They had bought it at an amazing discount, but eventually had to trade it in for a larger, family oriented Chevy Malibu later on. I have taken one of my favorite Hot Wheels along for the ride, making it ride along the scenery and buildings as they pass. We pull into a small store known as the L&M Grocery. This is where my great-grandparents live and run a small shop that sells hot food, drinks, snacks, general grocery items, misc merchandise, and ancient clothing and items that haven't sold since they were put on the shelves 15 years ago. My favorite feature is a vintage 1930s display cabinet filled with various candies and sweets that I would always ask to have a piece. The store is a relic from the 1950s, but is popular with a particular crowd of older folks who use the small makeshift dining area in the back as their daily coffee and news stop. A large television sitting atop a long decomissioned 1950s meat cooler blares the local news station, while the patrons all sip their coffee and read the papers. My grandparents are here, as my grandmother doesn't work, and my grandfather's marble and fireplace business are just next door. It has to be winter, I'm wearing my favorite Dallas Cowboys jacket. It was my favorite because it was warm, and my dad *loved* the Cowboys at the time. And it was cool to me to be wearing something he liked a lot...

My great grandfather is making more coffee as my great grandmother is sitting at her customary table near the end of a large pastry counter, the glass protecting cakes and doughnuts and other baked goods that she and her husband were well known for making with the large amount of industrial baking equipment she had installed throughout the years. Everyone knows us here, and all give us warm welcomes as we walk the well-worn aisle past the checkout counter towards the people at the back. I make sure to tap on the trashcan top near the beginning of the 'dining area', which flipped around several times before stopping. As I enter the area, my grandmother immediately notices my bandages and starts making a fuss... as a gift to make me feel better, I was given a small mini toolbox, like the red stack of drawers that you normally see in mechanic shops. Inside was a small amount of mini-tools and wrenches that I held onto until very late into the 2000s, given the fact this likely happened in 1996. I used them to fix up my little Hot Wheels car and drive it across the worn down carpet... which strangely included a strip of carpet that contained the logo of the Raiders football team...

That's about all I remember... but man, that part was clear as  day...
Don't remember me as I was...I was an idiot.

Offline Datra

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Re: The Childhood Memories Thread
« Reply #4 on: May 23, 2016, 02:57:52 AM »
Not my earliest memory by far, but still a fun one.
It was Christmas at my grandparents. I must have been no older than 4 or so. Since my grandparents were born in late 1930's Great Depression era North Dakota, I got a bunch of things like raisins and in-shell walnuts in my Christmas stocking (a different time where raisins and nuts were valuable treats for kids). But at the bottom of the stocking, right where the toe would be, was a super-ball in the likeness of an orange. My 4-or-so year old mind thought it was so cool! I've seen several super-balls during my short life thus far, but this was the coolest! So I gave it a good throw at the floor to see a good bounce.

It didn't.

It made a good 'smack' sound. but nothing more. It just laid there. Both of my parents looked at me at (pretty much) the same time and said "(Datra), what are you doing!"
I honestly didn't know. Because I expected the thing to bounce. And so, stifling a cry, realizing I did something very wrong, I told them "I don't know."

Apparently, it wasn't a super-ball at all. I was an actual orange. Specifically a Calamondin Orange.
Smaller than any orange I have ever seen at that point. (Which made me think it wasn't an orange at all.)

To this day (I'm in my mid 20's) my grandparents give me raisins and walnuts in my stocking.
But now, every year, when we pull the Calamondin Orange from the toe of the stocking;
Someone in my family always says "Look (Datra)! A super-ball!"
We all laugh.
And I wouldn't have it any other way :).
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Offline Boingo the Clown

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Re: The Childhood Memories Thread
« Reply #5 on: May 23, 2016, 01:34:35 PM »
Not my earliest memory by far, but still a fun one.
It was Christmas at my grandparents. I must have been no older than 4 or so. Since my grandparents were born in late 1930's Great Depression era North Dakota, I got a bunch of things like raisins and in-shell walnuts in my Christmas stocking (a different time where raisins and nuts were valuable treats for kids). But at the bottom of the stocking, right where the toe would be, was a super-ball in the likeness of an orange. My 4-or-so year old mind thought it was so cool! I've seen several super-balls during my short life thus far, but this was the coolest! So I gave it a good throw at the floor to see a good bounce.

It didn't.

It made a good 'smack' sound. but nothing more. It just laid there. Both of my parents looked at me at (pretty much) the same time and said "(Datra), what are you doing!"
I honestly didn't know. Because I expected the thing to bounce. And so, stifling a cry, realizing I did something very wrong, I told them "I don't know."

Apparently, it wasn't a super-ball at all. I was an actual orange. Specifically a Calamondin Orange.
Smaller than any orange I have ever seen at that point. (Which made me think it wasn't an orange at all.)

To this day (I'm in my mid 20's) my grandparents give me raisins and walnuts in my stocking.
But now, every year, when we pull the Calamondin Orange from the toe of the stocking;
Someone in my family always says "Look (Datra)! A super-ball!"
We all laugh.
And I wouldn't have it any other way :).

I should jump in here and point out something important. Kids today (or indeed kids born from the 1950s onward) don't understand the significance of receiving an orange in your stocking on Christmas day.  I know I didn't when I was young.  Most kids today would just look at oranges in their stockings with puzzlement before setting them aside.

However, while today obtaining an orange is just a matter of ambling down to the local supermarket and buying one inexpensively at any time of the year, before the spread of supermarkets in the 1950s, an orange was a rare and expensive tropical fruit that was difficult to get anywhere outside of a large city, especially when it was not in season.  Getting an orange in your stocking in winter, out of season, really was a big deal.  It would be like reaching into your stocking on Christmas morning and finding a $100 bill.

So this next childhood memory is not mine.  It is my 95 year old grandmother's.  She grew up in a rural home without electricity in the 1920s.

One day, a few days before Christmas, her uncle mysteriously disappeared.  For three days nobody could find him.  Everyone was terrified that he might have been lost or injured, or worse.

Then, on Christmas eve, her uncle reappeared, and they finally found out where he had gone.

As it turned out, her uncle had hiked all the way into the city to buy oranges for the children.

He gave her an orange, and it was the most wonderful thing she had ever eaten.

He had literally gone the extra miles to bring them a merry Christmas.

 


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