Can you recall your earliest childhood memory of your parents? A moment so clear that it lingers in your mind, yet still holds a hint of mystery in the details, given how young you were.
Once you reach a certain age, revisiting the past involves sifting through decades of experiences, which are bound to overshadow your earlier memories.
Given the extensive work our brains perform at any given moment, it’s not surprising that older, less specific memories can fade away to make room for new ones.
I’ve asked this question of other family members and friends before, and I’m often met with confused, uncertain looks, followed by a long pause as the person struggles with a question they’ve probably never been asked.
Eventually, the person admits they can’t clearly remember anything, and that’s the end of the discussion.
If you’re having the same problem, not to worry. Studies have found that children often can’t remember much before the age of three, and their memory skills are not fully developed until around age seven.
What’s my earliest childhood memory?
As for me? I can clearly recall with some accuracy the time, place, and even the season of my first memory of my father in particular. It was April 18, 1980, the day I turned five years old.
The weather was cool for a spring day in New Jersey, so my mother insisted that I wear a winter coat, as she was always a little overprotective.
My father had just arrived home from what I’m sure was a long and laborious day at work, pulling his late 1970s Ford Econoline van into the long, narrow driveway next to our Cape Cod-style home.
His van had what I could only describe as a “groovy” paint job. From what I can remember, there was a series of stripes near the bottom of the van on either side. Purple, orange, maybe even a yellow or gold, one starting a few inches below the wheel wells, followed by a thinner stripe above that, and ending with an even thinner stripe just beneath the door handles.
I think the entire van was either dark gray, bronze, or chocolate brown, though, for all I know, it could have been silver. It was hard to notice, given the vibrant color palette going on all around it.
To add ever more splendor to those “groovy” colors, I clearly remember a picturesque decal which I’m pretty sure was a sunset with mountains and birds flying or something along those lines, carefully applied to both the driver’s and passenger’s sides, located near the rear of the van just below the roof.
Again, I was only five years old at the time, so my memories of color, style, and design might be somewhat unreliable; however, I remember his penchant for pin stripes and bold colors, so I’m sure I’m not too far off the mark.
But the color, style, and design of the van are not the important part of this story. The important part is what my father was hiding away inside.
A gift forever immortalized
As I made my way down the concrete stairs to our backyard, my father asked me to stand by the passenger’s side of the van, close to the large sliding door. I remember struggling to slide open the door because of my short stature and thin frame.
As you helped me slide the van door open, which honestly made me feel as though we were playing the “Safe Crackers” game on The Price is Right (which I was obsessed with as a kid).
I was totally surprised to find a fire engine red ride-on farm tractor complete with a little pull-on wagon in the back.
The tractor featured two large wheels in the back and one smaller wheel in the front, along with the attached wagon.
It was powered by a set of pedals on either side, had stickers that represented the engine’s inner workings, and included a steering wheel to help navigate the lone front wheel from side to side.
At that point, I was somewhat obsessed with tractors. I had t-shirts and pajamas featuring tractors, a bedspread and curtains, and my forthcoming birthday cake was to be shaped like a tractor, which my mother would assemble from a rectangular sheet cake.
Not to mention the countless tractor toys that filled my bedroom’s toy chest. So, it wasn’t just that I was somewhat obsessed with tractors; I was definitely obsessed with tractors, and now I had just received the ultimate prize in toy tractordom.
I can still remember jumping up and down with excitement, just like little kids do when they can’t express their emotions verbally. My father hoisted the tractor from inside the van and slowly lowered it to the ground, me eagerly climbing into the seat, grinning from ear to ear, unable to say much of anything coherent.
Then he gently adjusted the seat for me so my tiny legs could reach the pedals to propel me forward. I then rode around our backyard in circles until I finally learned how the steering worked, feeling as though I was driving on a huge plot of land, not in my backyard.
Even though I knew my father was physically exhausted from a long day at the service station, handling mechanical issues, dealing with difficult customers, and facing a pile of paperwork, he was more than happy to stay outside after dinner.
I must have driven up and down the driveway a hundred times before the sun began to set in the distance, and the exterior lights illuminating our garage doors signaled that it was time for me to go to bed.
My first childhood memory was not just about a toy
The ride-on tractor was a cherished gift for many years, especially because it was given to me with great meaning by someone special. However, it wasn’t the only present I received on that day or in the years that followed.
As time went on, I realized that after the initial excitement of the tractor faded, something that often happens with material possessions, what truly remained was the memory of my father being attentive and present.
Even when he was undoubtedly exhausted, had other responsibilities to attend to, and perhaps felt bored watching a five-year-old drive back and forth repeatedly, he still made the effort to sit outside with me.
This childhood memory is just one of many that exemplify how my father selflessly prioritized me. It reflects his profound love and illustrates that nothing was ever more important than our relationship—neither cars, work, hobbies, sports, not even tractors.
What being present means today
If you ask many parents today, they will tell you they are very present in their children’s lives. While they may indeed be physically there, watching their children play soccer, perform at a dance recital, or make mud pies in the backyard, their attention is often divided.
While parents are present, they are also looking at their phones—checking emails, texting friends, scrolling through social media, or watching videos. Children notice these distractions, even if parents convince themselves they do not.
Being present goes beyond just physically being there. It involves actively participating and engaging in a child’s experiences, which is essential for them to feel truly prioritized.
Technology has made life more convenient, but it also encourages multitasking, which can undermine meaningful relationships.
When we multitask, we know that we can never give 100% of our attention to any one thing; something always suffers in the process. It should never come at the expense of the invaluable people in our lives.
A continual lesson from a childhood memory
There’s a picture frame in my office that holds a photo of me driving my tractor on that unforgettable day when my father brought home a surprise.
This childhood memory always reminds me of the unwavering time and attention he invested in me throughout my life, from childhood and adolescence into adulthood.
He taught me an invaluable lesson that I still appreciate today: material possessions and brand names fade in importance far more quickly than we often acknowledge. It is the relationships we cultivate that truly enrich our lives and make them worthwhile.
As we look forward to 2026, let’s make a powerful commitment to put down our phones more often and truly engage with the world and people around us, something we frequently overlook while we’re glued to our screens.
Let’s prioritize the precious people in our lives, children, spouses, family, and friends, who deserve our undivided attention.
Remember, nothing is more valuable than the loved ones we have today, for they won’t be here forever. Embrace this opportunity to connect and cherish every moment.