- Why did everyone start to hate the Russians if the U.S. did the same thing in Afghanistan, Iraq?
- What needs to be corrected in the management of Russia first?
- Why did Blaise Pascal become a religious man at the end of his life?
- How do I know if a guy likes you?
- When they say "one generation", how many do they mean?
My first memory that my memory has preserved is of being taught to sit on a potty (almost 50 years ago). I must have been 8-9 months old. I remember the preschool period well, but only in fragments. I remember the school period perfectly. But surprisingly, my memory almost did not retain memories of the school graduation in June 1985. I only remember my dress, my sandals, the table set in the school gym, the feeling of boredom, and … everything. No, I didn't get drunk there. Just a memory lapse.
I'm 2, grandpa puts me on his lap and I ride like a horse.
I'm 3-4, I eat ants in kindergarten.
I'm 5, I cut out a miracle car from some children's magazine, thread it and give it to my brother: “Lyosha, this is for you, a gift for NG, hang it on the Christmas tree.” Lyosha didn't appreciate it and threw away my miracle car 🙁
I remember learning to walk. She walked around the room along the walls, holding on to the sofa, cabinets, nightstands. But there was no furniture in the corners and you had to go through these places yourself without insurance. It was exciting when the sofa ended and the table was still three steps away…
I also remember realizing that I have a tongue. Some piece of food in your mouth that you can't chew or spit out. I decided that, probably, it should be here, but I was very surprised.
I remember with rather frightening details our old apartment from which we moved 19 years ago. I was about a year old when we lived there.
I remember the color of the rug on the floor next to my crib, I remember the sheet with the cubs on which I lay, I remember the tea that my mother gave me from a bottle. This is quite strange, because I even remember the color of the wallpaper and a lot of hatching pieces of wood from the window frame.�
It always bothered me, because I don't always remember where I put my things, but I did remember this.
I remember my mother sitting on a chair in the middle of the corridor and crying, and my father calmed her down. In the house across the street, her friend burned down with her husband in her sleep.
When I told him about this memory at a conscious age, my mother was very surprised, saying that I was then 2 or 3 years old. I don't remember anything before.
I was 5 years old, my parents sent me to a private kindergarten. But the teacher did not really follow the children and I, together with a friend (we still communicate), climbed the fire escape. The second floor, tsimes in that there was no fence, there was only a platform made of twigs. On the way to the kindergarten, my mother saw us jostling on the 2nd floor of the fire escape and ran to save us. I never went to kindergarten again.
I will not tell you about the best memory from my childhood. I was then 7-8 years old, at that time I was the smallest in the yard ,so the older guys constantly offended me. After the next hurtful words, I couldn't stand it, hit the boy in the face, and immediately rushed to run as fast as I could, but after a couple of dozen meters they caught up with me. I escaped with a few bruises. But the most annoying thing is that adults watched from the windows, and in turn did nothing to help the boy. The next day, as if nothing had happened, I played football with these boys))
My first memory is somewhere around three years old. I remember a rug on the wall with deer and I'm on the floor with dice (such with letters on all sides) playing. I put them together and suddenly understand how the words come out. The feeling of discovery was remembered forever.
I clearly remember one memory from my early childhood, when my sister picked me up from the crib and dropped me on the floor. According to her, I was about a year old. This is my earliest memory, and I don't know why it sticks so strongly in my mind
The very first thing is that I am being carried out of the hospital, I don't know if this is true or not, maybe this is a later memory and I was just being driven in a wheelchair, but I clearly remember someone's smile and many, many trees.�
I remember how at the age of 4 my mother took me to work in the Palace of Culture, and I boldly climbed all day on all sorts of statues, drew letters together with my mother (she is beautiful, I am not very), diligently recited aloud all sorts of words from banners, only having learned to read.
And at the age of five, my mother and I went to her favorite Adler, where the same house was waiting for us, there was a nuclear pink toilet, the toilet in which for some reason was on a raised platform, I fell asleep while doing my business and rolled down the small steps. These are the most vivid memories.
My recollection is rather sad�
I still remember one of my parents ' fights very well, I remember that it started at home, and ended when my father left, the brightest thing was when I stood on the street after that, I let go of a balloon that flew into the void of the night sky.
I was just over a year old. I was sitting in a high chair in the kitchen of an old apartment, eating strawberries from a plate. I remember my mother standing to my right in a flowery sundress. At some point, I looked up and saw a dish towel with strawberries embroidered on it, and then something happened in my small head and I realized that the berries I was eating were the same ones depicted on the towel. I immediately pointed my finger at the coat rack and hummed, much to my mother's surprise.
I remember the day I was first taken to the nursery. I remember looking at my mother during breakfast and realizing that something important is happening, and it's not exactly happening secretly, but secretly. I look closely at my mother's face, and the thought occurs to me:”When I grow up, I will also be able to see my own eyes.” I'm sorry, but I don't know what that means)
Later that day, I sat on the potty and watched the little girl put the tumbler down. I was very surprised and even felt some respect – she did it. The girl put it in the clothes locker unawares.
My first memory in my life is still like a dream and if not for the comparison of facts with my mother, I would have thought that I was dreaming.As it turned out, I was 8 months old.I remember my christening.I remember a small room,a large vat of cold water and orange peels, I remember how I screamed, it was scary that they would drown because they were dipping my head in there, I remember a woman in black who was contrastingly warm and her shoulder in which I buried myself and dripped)for a long time, my mother did not believe in the need for my memory,but the details were too accurately described)
The second memory that comes to mind is that of Marat)I stand in the stairwell and look down at my brother coming up and think, ” What if I remember this moment for the rest of my life?”)After that, being older, I tried to do this trick again,but the most striking thing was the stairs)
I was 4 years old. I was putting on my jacket to go out with my grandmother in the yard. After putting on my jacket, I climbed on a chair and, looking in the mirror, said loudly: “I am 4 years old!”. This moment was imprinted in my memory, and I still remember in detail what I was wearing, how I looked in the mirror, the calendar with Governor Ayatskov lying on the nightstand, and other small things.
I remember myself from the moment when the whole family flew from Anzhero-Sudzhensk, a small mining town in the Kemerovo region, to visit my grandfather in Riga. I was about 2 years old then.
We fly on a plane and I kick the seats in front of the seated passengers; we land on Red Square (here fantasy is added to the memories, but the picture is clear); we run circles with my brother on the fountain; I am scolded by some Latvian woman for trampling the lawn; at the sea, my parents try in vain to persuade me to run without underpants.
Well, then filmstrips, Barbie ads, clips of Michael Jackson, a mock-up of some mansion at my mother's work, and many,many other interesting things from 2 years old.
I remember when I was about four years old, I admired how the light beautifully passes through the cracks between the door and the jamb. Such rounded stripes. Later, about ten years later, I realized that this was my first memory without glasses.
The memory of a TV set belongs to the same period. At home, there was a small black-and-white TV on the nightstand. I loved watching it, and my parents often swore that I was sitting very close to it, and they didn't understand why I was doing this.
This is not a single event, but rather a small period of several days. I'm three years old and I'm sick, just a common cold. It was not long before the new year, because my mother several times clarified whether I want a soft toy – a wolf with or without teeth. Most vividly I remember a very strange thought in my head: “Well, I'll remember the beginning of my life with the fact that I'm sick.” �
Around the age of nine, an even earlier memory suddenly popped up in my head, and I was definitely less than three years old. I'm sitting on a potty playing with a blue rubber hippo. Meaningful and valuable.
I don't know about the earliest. But it is the most vivid and memorable, that's for sure. I was in kindergarten at the time . Children then often got sick, snot, cough, everything. We probably couldn't talk properly back then. The children sucked all their snot into their noses without blowing their noses. But it's not very efficient. All the children were sitting at lunch. A girl was sitting across from me. And here we are, eating soup. Suddenly, the girl across from me either sneezes or something, and a HUGE green snot flies out of her nose right into her bowl of soup. Then I was disgusted and even scared. And now I remember and laugh.
I'm 3 years old. Winter. I'm going somewhere with my parents. I'm dressed so tightly that I feel like a balloon. A strong wind blows, and I plop down on the ground. I lie down and wait for them to lift me up.
I'm still 3 years old. The whole family sat down on the couch to take a family photo. I'm also there. I'm holding a broken camera that I'm playing with. Like photographing a photographer. I'm being told not to. I continue to imitate the shooting process. They tell me to remove my ” toy ” from my face, because I can't be seen. I don't give up my positions. They take my camera away from me.
I was about 3 years old. At first I remember the darkness. I remember hearing sounds. And then-once-the darkness clears, I walk by my mother's hand to kindergarten. I remember being very surprised, but for some reason I didn't ask anything about what was going on or where they were taking me.
I'm three years old. I sit at home and calmly watch the cartoon “Domovenok Kuzya” (I even clearly remember the frame on the screen). My grandmother comes in and happily informs me that my sister was born. I, realizing that my sister is not going anywhere, and I may never see this cartoon again, indifferently respond: “Now, I'll finish watching the cartoon, and then show me this Masha.”
And yet, for some reason, I really remember one dream that was repeated several years later. I don't remember when I first saw him, probably at the age of 4, no later. I would walk out of the apartment and into the entryway and suddenly find myself sitting in a wicker berry basket. Then the basket would slide rapidly down the stairs. I was waiting for it to end soon (we lived on the 2nd floor), but the “slide” was endless. It was always very scary.
I was baptized in a year and 2 months. This is my first memory. Someone is holding me in their arms, and I can't see my face. But I see my mother-she is standing next to me, her hands are on the girl's shoulders, I also know the girl, we play together (on weekends). There are other people. I don't see anyone's faces anymore, just silhouettes and shapes. We are in a dark room, but there are some light sources. No one has ever believed this memory of mine – and it's too little to remember, but when I start describing where the light came from, that there is a lot of fire around people and they are not afraid. I also always said that I was baptized with fire. But as I grew up, I realized that they were baptised over a container of water, where the fire was reflected. Interesting optical deception))
In addition to all sorts of excerpts at the age of 2-3 years-mostly games with my mother, sister, I remember one walk. I am three 2.5 years old, summer, my mother and I are walking around the city center and taxiing into some kind of arch. This arch haunted me for a long time, until I entered the university, in the courtyard of which there was this arch!
And it is also one of the highlights. When I was three, I plugged in the boiler and put it on the linoleum. After a while, the flames broke out. I was very scared, grabbed the dog (or did it grab me?), and we hid in the room behind the door, looking through the crack under the door at the growing flames. I don't know who was saving who, but we were terrified!
I was about a year old when I got seriously ill with pneumonia. They were taken to the hospital. I remember lying on my back, turning my head to the left. Next to me, Dad is lying on his side, his head propped up on his hand, smiling and saying something to me.
I was about two years old, sitting on the couch with my red, fluffy cat Fedya and tearing up the newspapers one by one with wild delight. Apparently, I really liked it.
Strange, I don't have any early memories. They say that memory blocks childhood memories if there were negative events. It didn't seem like there was a lot of negativity, but at the first school I felt bad, I didn't look at the presence of several friends, I couldn't get used to it, and I was acutely aware of the bad attitude of my classmates. My first memory is of the kindergarten – we make winter cakes out of colored water. I remember only frozen facts, there are no actions in my memory, there are just pictures from the past. Here is our room in the garden with cots, they need to be put away in the closet. Here's a shared toilet. Here are my crafts with my mother-turtles made from walnuts. Here are acorns – you can also make something out of them. More explicit memories begin after the age of 8 and they are all about the country. I remember my friends, I remember the streets, here is a ravine with reeds, here is a gate – you can ride on them. Here I can already tell you for a long time, all the first stories happened here. Once we wrote and posted an announcement that the intake of gas cylinders was ending, we were quickly found out, but someone managed to run around to change the cylinders. Then we dressed up my friend Sasha in my grandmother's clothes, he took a cane and we took him by the arms to the neighbors, to talk, like we are grandchildren, and he is our grandmother. The grannies didn't believe us and sent us away, and then they complained. I was scolded because I was the eldest in the company, and I was offended, because I remember how the kids persuaded me to do this with the words ” otherwise they will be offended and we will not be friends.”
I spent the first 10 years of my life in Barybino, every summer. I was very bored and after 20 years I came there twice, I was afraid I wouldn't find a place. But when I saw familiar places, I immediately remembered how to go and where, making every step I learned everything, even the slabs under my feet. I cried with happiness there. I touched fences, looked at the neighbors where my friends lived, everything was preserved there, nothing could be touched by people, except by time… And the trees grew. A couple of new cottages are not included in the picture. A new owner came out, we met – she knew my grandfather. She let us into the house – at his request, she didn't change anything – they still cover the ground in three layers with apples from our apple trees, and even the side of the foundation is covered with the same tarp that I stepped on to climb through the window. All the memories came alive in my head and it no longer feels like it was in another life. Tubes-spittoons with peas, a neighbor's Scotch Terrier Yashka from the word Box and three bags of stones collected on the road, because they were imprints of past lives (shells, etc.).
Unfortunately I do not know how old I was�
But it was evening, and the leaves were falling, and I was lying in my wheelchair, looking up at the trees.�
I also remember how my mother smelled as a child, Armani jeans perfume
I stare out into the winter night and try to find my parents. they had been gone for quite a long time and I was afraid that they had died, and I was alone in an empty apartment. And now I'd have to wait until morning to go to the bathroom and get something to eat, because the lights in the hallway were off and I was terrified of the dark.
As I run through the tall grass, I realize that a bee is about to fly out and sting me. that's what happens. I cry because of the pain and resentment that I did not prevent what I foresaw, and my mother scolds me, saying that you are a man, and men do not cry.
I was 3-4 years old. and I do not know which of these two memories is the earliest.
Some stories from the early childhood of 2-3 years, when walking on the street. I remember a lot of it.
But the most memorable thing is when at the age of 3 I was asked by a woman from custody-who taught you to read, I replied that I myself and everyone laughed at it.
I learned about my age relatively recently:
1. I'm about a year and a half old. My governess says, ” But Papa will be here soon to bring you something nice, “and I think of blueberry pie on the word” delicious.”�
May 25 is my birthday, I turn two years old. My father is standing on the other side of the room, literally in the doorway, shouting something at my mother, swearing, then slamming the door and I never saw him again. Growing up, I found out that my parents divorced that month. A lovely birthday present and a very delicious blueberry pie came out, yes.
I'm two years old. In the nursery group, a girl walks past me with a piece of blueberry pie and smiles maliciously, showing off her pie and cheeks with smeared stuffing.
I'm three years old. Grandpa is sitting in a big leather chair in the study, late at night, only the desk lamp works in the room. I'm perched on his lap, flipping through a children's encyclopedia, while Grandpa tells me a story. I read it myself later. It was the fairy tale “Scarlet Sails”. My favorite to this day.�
I'm about four years old. My mother took me to a speech therapist, and after the appointment, I jumped up and down and pronounced the letter “r” loudly, enjoying the sound of it.
I'm about 2-3 years old. I sit in the room next to my bed, on the floor, waiting for the tub to fill up and my mother to call me to bathe. I'm looking at pictures in a book about a goat.
I don't know why this particular moment is so clearly etched in my memory, but I even remember the atmosphere that was in the room at that time, the light. The most interesting thing was discovered at a fairly adult age – I found a photo of myself that night in one of the old photo albums. I'm sitting on the floor next to the crib, holding a thin paper book called Goat, and I'm looking at the door as if I'm waiting for something. But, oddly enough, I don't remember anyone taking pictures of me that night, just what I described above.
My earliest and strangest memory is of an incomprehensible dream (or not a dream?) about a purple planet with poison-green trees. At the same time, I was accompanied by approximately the following thoughts: at least not to be born a girl and not with a stupid surname. (This is exactly what happened in the end). I don't remember how old I was, but I was definitely under 4.
I can't say exactly how old I was, 1.5 or maybe 2 years old. I woke up in my crib in the morning (or afternoon?) I saw the sun and the yellow curtains. I also saw my mother sleeping on the couch next to me. And then I came up with a wonderful idea: if my mother is asleep, then she doesn't see what I'm doing, which means I can do something forbidden. I don't know why, but the only idea I had was to scare my mom. There was a blanket (or sheet?)in my crib. So I decided to stand up very quietly and give him a sharp tug. At the time, I found it intimidating.God, I was really thrilled at the thought. But as soon as I got up, my mother woke up and pulled me out of bed ): So my very first memory is of being disappointed.
My recollection is rather sad. When I was about one and a half to two years old, my parents took me to the village. I remember being very happy about it. My great-grandmother lived there, in such a classic wooden hut with a palisade, with a stove, with large beds, a cat, in general, as I imagined it from fairy tales. But this does not apply to the story, it's just that it can also be called a vivid impression. It was summer. One day my mother and father and I went swimming in the river. The path led through a small forest and a field where cows were grazed. As we were walking across the field, my father said to me, ” Look at the delicious flatbread lying in the grass, go get it.” I, without a second thought, thinking, this is how great, I'm going to break off a piece of flatbread and eat it, grabbed it with both hands. As you can already guess, it was not a bakery product, but cow feces, dried up, but liquid inside. I looked at my baby's hands, which were completely smeared with stinking feces, and realized that I had been deceived. I wasn't a whiny kid, so I was just terribly offended. Of course, my parents later calmed me down, felt sorry for me, and tried in every possible way to cheer me up, but this incident remained one of the saddest in my childhood. Now, when we meet at the festive table with our parents, we remember this story and laugh.
I remember very well how I went for a walk with my mother – she drove me in a sitting wheelchair, and then decided to take a picture. She put the stroller next to me and started walking away to take a picture. I was really scared for the first time in my life! Those ten steps seemed like an insane distance 🙂 How? What's happening? Why is my mother leaving without me? I even remember what kind of coat my mother was wearing, what kind of trees grew around her, I especially clearly remember emotions – it's even surprising that everything was so accurately preserved in my memory. And the photo eventually lies somewhere in the family album 🙂
MRI at the age of 2 or 3 years. The clean, spacious halls of the medical center, packed with equipment, were very impressive for their significance and futurism, especially in comparison with the dirty and rusty post-Soviet castle outside the window. At first, I was given an injection (which significantly spoiled my mood) and allowed to sit for a while. But after-laying on the couch in front of a huge incomprehensible car, instructions and, in fact, a slow ride inside on the verge between fear and interest-it turned out to be a really vivid and memorable experience, I don't know why 😉
There are a few, but the most vivid and most distinct is when my mother and I were photographed in the park by the river, in early spring, I was wearing a big warm jacket and a hat, which I tried to pull off. We posed near a large tree. I remember this moment very vividly and clearly, sometimes when the memories are fresh in my memory, as if they happened a couple of hours ago, in fact 18 years have passed 🙂
Another funny memory is also about 2-3 years old: before the new year, I was rushing around the apartment, my mother and aunt were setting the table. I proudly alone did not find anything better than jumping from sofa to sofa (there was a distance of about a meter between them) jumped, was afraid to fall into the lava (on the floor), in the end I jumped-concussion and a broken nose…) we had fun celebrating the new year in trauma
I'm with my parents and grandfather in some village museum, I see a skeleton in front of me, I shout ” It's Babay!” I hide behind my grandfather in fright, and everyone (except me, of course) starts laughing.
The first childhood memory that is clearly recorded and connected in the mind with some historical events is a report on TV. I am 5 years old, and they show how a truck (I already knew for sure that it was military and called “Zil-131”) rams some huge glass doors and drives into the lobby of the building. A sight to behold! Then, already in my student years, I came to understand: on October 3, 1993, the storming of the TV center in Ostankino by supporters of the Supreme Soviet.
Something is also remembered earlier, but this is the most conscious.
I was about 2 years old… I was walking in the yard and a tractor passed over me – the driver did not notice, it was very shallow. As I later realized, it was a neighbor's K-700)
I have two vivid memories:
I was about 2 years old, most likely. They tried to weigh me at the hospital, but I was kicking in every possible way, so the doctor wanted to tie my legs. I remember lying in the fetal position on a cold scale and crying.
I remember running around the yard, stopping, and it clicked in my head: “Marat, you are 5 years old and you will remember this day forever.” All right. I remember how I was dressed, what I was holding, what the weather was like. This is very strange, of course, but these are the features of memory.