I'm thinking of the time that my father got ready for us to go on a family roadtrip vacation. He packed the car "just so," with most of the luggage piled from floor to ceiling in a column in the middle of the back seat. This was a wall he built to maintain space between me and my little brother. We picked and fought constantly, so my dad came up with a plan to have a peaceful car ride. There we sat in the back seat, unbuckled, with a mountain of stuff between us, unable to see or touch each other. It was probably the most boring ride of our lives! These days...there is so much wrong with that picture! :huhlaugh:

Wow, I have quite a few of them.

Most of them consisted of being with my mother. My mom enjoyed taking day trips - and of course, I was right by her side. She would often visit the Statue of Liberty (we lived in Jersey City and it was a hop-skip-jump to NYC)... and we would picnic on the island and take boat rides along the Hudson (hence my love of boats). Looking back, I am wondering if her excursions were to get away from my father for a while, lol...

I always had a blast with my mom. Just about every weekend there was a trip going somewhere....

More of fondest moments as a child was growing up with my nephew Kevin. He was such a character. Together, we were like Bonnie and Clyde, Frick and Frack, Trouble and More Trouble. The antics we would get involved in were hysterical - and we would constantly get into trouble when we were together. He was my best buddy growing up - the kid brother I never had. As we got older, I remember coming out to him, and he was just so cool about it. He was one hell of a kid.

Kevin passed away shortly after his 18th birthday. It was a hard blow. But I am forever thankful and grateful for the moments we did spend together. Next to my mother, he was the reason I smiled a lot as a kid.

My favorite childhood memory
 

Was when i was a kid and living on a farm. My dad would come in and sit in his recliner and i would pull out my tractor with my plow and pretend to plant grass for hair on my dad head. To this day that is my fondest memory of my dad. I love him so.

I remember smells, too. They take me right back to places and experiences. The smell of chicken soup made with parsley and dill always takes me back to my grandmother's kitchen. No matter what holiday or occasion, she made a huge pot of chicken soup with boiled chicken, whole vegetables, and gobs of cooked parsley which, for some reason, I loved. We were all given big bowls, but my grandfather was served the biggest of all. She always served soup to him in a large, divided vegetable dish which probably held enough for four. The only place I get this particular smell is in my own home when I make chicken soup the way my grandmother made it.

Genuine Lassy Pup at the movies.
 

Staying at my grandmother's was the best. She was a large Russian-German woman, who could cook anything. My childhood pal was my Uncle Johnny, my mother's youngest brother, who was a year older than me. I did everything he did, wore everything he wore, played with toys he played with and had blast getting into everything with him. When mama would smack me up the side of the head for something, which was always, my grandmother would say, "Give it to John, too, he needs it," just so I wouldn't feel bad. Then mom would bop him up the side of the head and I would laugh and laugh and laugh.

Anyway, one day, John and me decided we wanted a swimming pond in the back yard. So, we went in the garage and grabbed two spades and went out back and started to dig a little ways from the house, and down a slope where you couldn't see too well. We started about 9 in the morning. Every now and then, my grandmother would shout from the kitchen, "what are you kids doing out there? It's too quiet!" We told her nothing and kept on digging.

Well, around 6, before supper, we had dug a hole about 6 feet deep and about 5 feet round. So John went and got the hose and we got about 3 feet filled up and then we jumped in. About that time, my grandma called us in for dinner, and we couldn't get out because it was a mudslide in there.

So after calling us about 4 times, here comes my grandmother. "Oh my God, you kids!" She grabbed John by the arms and pulled him out and whipped the hell out of him. Then she grabbed me up and whipped the hell out of me...well, when mom came over, I got double from her

...and John laughed and laughed and laughed.

For many years, my brother used to take us to a lake every Sunday in the summer months. Me and my two oldest nephews (who were relatively close in age) - would wander around the grounds looking for some sort of trouble to get into. It was a big lake - they held concerts at night, had concession stands - it was more like a very toned down theme park.

I was a massive tomboy as a child - and would always find a way to get myself dirty. During one trip - I was wearing a pair of brand new red shorts my mother bought for me - and I wasn't supposed to be wearing them until later that evening (aka clothes change). Well, despite my mother's warnings, I wore them, and I was determined not to get dirty this time around. I was looking sharp and I was planning on staying that way. I promised her.

Well.. as fate would have it - we (my nephews and I) - were walking on rocks along a stream ... minding our own business, not looking for trouble (for a change) and low and behold I take a slide on some mud and land ass first on a huge muddy rock.

I was so pissed. My day was shot and so were my shorts. I made my nephews walk behind me shielding my ass because I was embarrassed that I had an inch thick of mud back there. EVERYONE will know I took an ass dive. Oh, the tragedy.

I can still hear my mother "you can't keep anything clean can you...? I told you not to wear those shorts ... " *sigh* I was never sure she believed I didn't do it on purpose.

I still laugh at the picture in my head of me slipping on that rock. It was slow-motion, both feet in the air, BOOM I'm on my ass and mud everywhere.
It wasn't funny then, but it's worth a good chuckle for me now.

When I was about four or five, I remember going to synagogue with my grandfather one morning, probably a Saturday morning. We walked all the way, and then I sat with him on the men's side of the orthodox sanctuary. We stood up and sat down as the service went on, according to the prayers and traditions. The whole service was in Hebrew, and the prayers, chanted mostly aloud, but quietly, to themselves, sounded like sing-song mumbling. After a bit, I decided that there was nothing to it, so I started chanting along, quietly mumbling gibberish to myself, like everyone else. You should have seen how proud my grandfather was! :bow:

My biological mom always knew where my brother and I were... So as I got older I would sneak into the shed connected to the house to see pictures of us when we were little and to look at her picture...

And then I would lay in bed at night and dream of my mother... And want to be with her....

oh honey...this just made my heart resonate....if I could I would swallow you up in my arms and hold you as the child you once were and let you dream your dreams....

Oh Ms Softness I didnt post that for a "pity" I posted it because dreaming of my real mom growing up was the best memory for me.... :) Thank you Hugs to you my friend

you mistook my intention...I am not one to fuss with whiners or those who seek pity. I see the sweetness in your memory and just wanted to hold the child who loved so well, that which was his, but had to love from afar...

I apologize... And thank you :)

Thanks to everyone for your chuckles and response to this story. Below is my Uncle Johnny taken in 1964, at my grandmothers, the same year we dug our swimming hole behind her house. With John, my cousin Tina who died in 1980 at the of 18.

Johnny and his wife live in Denver where he owns a machine shop which customizes in custom parts for machinery and aeronautics, including parts for NASA.

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