My earliest memory is of falling down the stairs. I was two or three (though if I was three, this is not, in fact, my earliest memory), and as I remember it, there was a tornado coming, so we had to go down to the basement. My parents assure me that this is not true, that I was just going down to the basement to play, and I will acknowledge that they are probably right and I'm combining it with other memories in that house because basement=tornadoes in Illinois.
Anyway, I was going to the basement, and I had a popsicle in my hand, and I slipped and I fell all the way to the bottom. BUT! I saved my popsicle. It did not touch the ground once. And yet, my father took it away to replace it, but he replaced it with an orange popsicle, and the first one had been a cherry popsicle, and I didn't like the orange ones, and I was very upset.
I am intrigued that I remember the flavor of the popsicles in question but not whether or not there was a tornado.
My favorite childhood memory involves my brothers, which is an interesting statement if you know much about my childhood relationship with Matthew and Jeffrey. In short, we didn't get along.
But one summer, when I was about eight, we spent an entire afternoon in my bedroom, listening to Tom Chapin tapes and acting out the songs with my stuffed animals. It was a rare occasion free from sibling animosity, so I remember it very fondly.