During a discussion with friends about Nothing in Particular, we each spoke of our very earliest memory. Or at least, my friends told about their earliest childhood memory.
I was racking my brain, trying to remember anything at all about my early childhood.
Then, a short movie unrolled in my head and I could see my mother handing me a quilt and a package of Juicy Fruit Gum and I could feel my childish delight as I took these items and went outside for a little picnic by myself.
How old was I? Quite likely about three or four years old, I suppose, for we were living on Rock Island Street in Tucumcari, New Mexico at the time.
That was it. A good Childhood Memory. A picnic. A quilt. Chewing gum.