By Eleanor Kazdan, August 20, 2021 — I learned in my child language development class that we have no memories before the time that we can verbalize, so that explains why my first memory is from when I was 2. I was the firstborn of 4 children. My parents and I lived in downtown Toronto in what they called a semi-detached house. We shared a front porch with our neighbors, separated by a wooden lattice. My very first fleeting memory is of me and my parents walking down the street. I was in the middle holding their hands and jumping up and swinging every few steps. I felt completely happy and protected. Another memory from this age is of me joyfully jumping on my bed.
There was a little boy named who Ian lived in the attached house next door. When we were both about 3, he started coming over and finger painting with me. Also at age 3, I went to preschool which wasn’t very common in the early ’50s. We sat in a circle and sang songs. The teacher’s name was Hannah. She played a piano that was painted blue.
My family moved to a new house when I was about 3 1/2. I had a little brother by then and my mother was pregnant with twins. I remember her lying on the floor and bleeding. She had to have an emergency C-Section and all turned out well. I was so proud of my tiny twin brothers.
My early childhood was carefree and happy. I’m pretty amazed to look back and remember these long ago snippets of my life at age 70.