My Memories Of My Childhood

In june 1994 my mama found out that she was pregnant, this was a shock because my mom wasn’t suppose to be able to birth another child. I became the little miracle growing inside her. The doctor told my parents he was going to do everything he could so I could live, he was a christian man and he told her “we’re going to pray that God does a miracle.” December 5th 1994, a c-section was performed and I was born a premature baby that weighed 2.5 pounds.

The year is 2011 and my parents are staring at me across the dinning room table. The only thing on my mind is that I am in trouble. At eleven years old I could not fathom what was about to come. The fights and withdrawn attitudes should have prepared me for what they said, but they did not. I never thought my parents would separate, and at such a young age it was hard to comprehend. I knew that my family was about to change forever. My dad treated me like a princess, while my mom pushed me in school and extracurricular activities. My parents evened each other out. When my mother and I had a problem, my dad helped us work it out. He was my rock while my mom was someone I thought I had to love. Our communication centered on things like girl scouts, soccer, or praise dance. I always felt she loved my brothers more than me. For a while that was fine, I had my dad who hung the moon and the stars for me.

The topic is based on childhood memories. In childhood we are not limited by reality. Childhood’s attractive and positive moments and things have been chosen to depict through the paintings. All the favorite memories are recalled and transferred in the present work in visual form. It seems like a college of all things related to the childhood. The mind has various memories of the early life but the thesis focuses on the precious ones that always pop up in the mind and makes the artist feel comfort and pleasure. In addition to the recollection of memories, the paintings also have the text written by the kids of the same age as that of the memories. Memories follow you anytime anywhere.

I spent a year in the foster care system. My foster home was an old creaky house. The room I slept in was at the top of the stairs, third door on the left. I was the only one in my room, it was the only thing I had that was just mine. It was quiet, great for thinking. Early in the morning the sun would streak across the dark hardwood floor and reflect off the white walls, showing all the dust particles in the air. It may have smelt, as many old houses do, of must and mildew, but that morning I did not care. I was about to taste freedom. It was the morning I would leave to live with my mother full-time. Before I left, I sat on my hard mattress with its scratchy tan sheets one last time and reflected on all the events that had led up to this point.

It is hard to recall which one of my memories is actually the first because there are so many. However, as I tried to decide between various different memories there was one that stuck out to me. The memory itself is a little bit foggy, but I can remember that I was extremely young. It must have been a weekend because both of my parents were home, and I can remember the sun shining through the windows in my house. I was in my room playing and dancing around, watching myself in the mirror. I heard my mom scream out for help and I dashed down the hallway, through the living room and kitchen where I found my mom on the stairs. She was about halfway down the stairs and had something resting on her lap. I remember being frightened as I rushed down the stairs to see what had happened. Her screams were loud and dramatic and I wondered why my sister and father were not there. I realized that the item on her lap was a laundry basket full of towels, she had fallen on her way to the laundry room. I tried to help my mom, but as little as I was there was not much to do. My mom explained for me to go get my dad or sister because she was hurting. I then also began yelling, looking for my family. I found my dad downstairs on the couch snoring, he had slept through the incident. When I woke him and explained that mom needed him, he was not as concerned as I expected. He got up slowly, saying “I’m coming, I’m coming” as I ran back to sit with my mom. I held her hand, worried, until both my

As my mom and dads fighting got to a daily basis, we eventually moved in to my grandpa and grandma's house. My parents divorce was really hard for me and it had an impact on my parents and I’s relationship. We are with my mom every weekday and some weekends, we go to my dad’s house every other weekend. Not seeing my dad a lot causes a lot of problems. My dad and I don't really talk much, and when we do talk it’s a

Childhood memories are something people cherish for a lifetime. Even the memories you do not want to remember have an impact on you. Only thing you get out of these bad memories are the lessons that will never be forgotten. My most vivid childhood memory is when my dad and I went to gym and I had torn my ligament while playing basketball, because a soldier had stepped on my ankle.

This was my earliest memory. I was four years old and it was around the time of Christmas. Me and my brother David were in the kitchen eating our snack at the brown breakfast table we always ate at before we went to preschool. My mom was putting up the the decorations on the christmas tree in the living room that was adjacent to our kitchen and just a step down. She always put up these tiny plastic houses, old shops and tiny churches - usually on the top above our television case - that were covered in snow and would light up when you plugged them into the wall and you could always see the little figures through the tiny windows. She always used fluffy white cotton fabric that she would place around the little houses to imitate snow. She also would always put up the scene of Jesus in the manger with the wise men and the barn animals which too would light up. These were always pleasing to look at and help set up. My dad was outside putting the yellow lights on the gutter of our white house - “white house” is how we always remembered our house back in Madison Wisconsin. We were not big into decorations when it came to holidays like halloween where we would just carve a few pumpkins, but when christmas came my parents seemed to enjoy decorating the most.

The house that I am living in now is not where I used to live and to me it is not home yet. To me home is where all your friends and family are, where you can and have create new joyful memories. The first house my family had shares few memories with my little brother but I can remember quite a lot. Exhausted from the fun activities of the day, I would collapse onto my comforting warm bed in my bedroom were I once spent my nights in, conjuring up countless phantasms fantasies and dreams. It had a balcony connected to which I would gain access to it through huge glass slider doors facing west over the lake so I could see the sun set over the shimmering lake contemplating the events of the day. I can remember waking up early every morning running down the stars to play in my favorite room in the house across from the chicken so I can hear the sizzling of bacon and smell its wonderful aroma while playing with my toys.In the summer we would eat out on the patio under my balcony. After I would run around take the boats out or just swim. I took my first steps their spake my first words their and so much more that house is a vesele that holds my childhood memories. I can remember countless times that I walked, biked, sailed or kayaked down to the beach to meet friends. We would swim out to the slide on the floating dock and spend hours their. We would have water gun fights or build sand castles no matter what the activity was we would always have a great time.

Piglet, from Winnie the Pooh, once noticed that, “even thniyluough he had a very small heart, it could hold a rather large amount of gratitude.” I feel my childhood favorite perfectly highlights that we always have time in our lives to reflect and praise God with gratitude. Today people are so preoccupied with how much have, they forget the actual value of people and experiences. I try to be satisfied with what I have because I know I am very blessed compared to most people on the Earth. This holiday season I am especially thankful for all aspects of my “family.”

My childhood was anything but dull. From soccer games to building high-end forts, there are few memories I have of an uneventful childhood. Growing up with 3 older siblings gave some advantages, along with some disadvantages. Yes, I could earn my parent’s attention most of the time, but I couldn’t go on certain rides at the water park, or stay up as late as my siblings. There came a point in my life when all my siblings were in school and my mom was working throughout the day, leaving my dad to keep me company. I always awaited the time when I sat in the backseat of the car driving to my sibling’s school, knowing that I would see them soon. I was a happy child and always aspired to do everything that my siblings did, even though I was many years younger. I would not trade my cherished experiences of my childhood for anything, and I’m writing this to share some of my many childhood memories.

The idea of forgetting what happened in my small town never allowed me to recognize that I was very scared during those years of my life. On the contrary, I have been always looking at the good side of the situation. Obviously, this happens because I do not want to go to that place of pain again. I prefer avoiding that pain by talking about the good experiences that have come from that frightening situation: I lived in Bogota, I met many people, I came to the US, etc. However, the reality is that I did not address the fear directly, I just avoided the elephant in the room, but I know it has been always present.

I am always excited to go to Los Angeles to visit my aunts and cousins. Although I prefer solitude to being surrounded by my rather large family, it is quite invigorating to give in to the affection of those closest to me and allow myself time to reminisce on my childhood, for the moments I spent with them are my happiest memories yet. Because of my solitary disposition, I came to the conclusion that I would never have children of my own at a very young age. I know I appreciate the occasional company of my family much more than I do a permanent lingering. However, I am certain that my disposition was not the only influence at play in my decision. The odious notion that Latinas have the tendency to birth children like rabbits instilled in me the resolution that I will never be a part of it.

It is indeed very challenging for me to recall memories of my childhood. After having three (3) Caesarean Sections, two (2) major and many minor operations and diagnostic procedures done to me, I hardly remember early memories and situations happened in my life. Even at this time, I often become forgetful on a lot of things. Nevertheless, I try to look back on the happy memories of my childhood, adolescence and early adulthood as I believe that these memories and past experiences had moulded me to be what I am today.

Many of my fondest childhood memories involved a stuffed lamb doll and one of my grandfather 's old stethoscopes. As a precocious seven-year-old, I would often stand beside my grandfather while he examined his patients. Watching him carefully, I mimicked his every move, an act that rarely failed to pull a laugh out of even the sickest of patients. Even in these moments of childhood play, I noticed the sheer joy and relief that his healing hands had the capacity to bring to the suffering and worried patients he treated. Seeing this, I remember thinking to myself that one day, I wanted to bring people that same joy.