I remember a fair bit of my early childhood:

• My older sister playing school with me. I was three or so. That’s how I learned to read.
• When my mum taught me about the “little dragons” in our bodies; basically a child-friendly way to teach how sickness works, and how our bodies deal with them.
• My 4yo birthday. It wasn’t anything special, but I remember jumping all happy across the kitchen.
• A few times that my father ruined family meal. Making my sister cry, making me cry, whining incessantly about the food, encouraging me to eat the cooked yolk that my mum would use in the dish, this kind of thing.
• My grandma pouring condensed milk over my chocolate milk, and saying “shh, don’t tell your mum”.
• Locking my grandpa’s dog inside the basement, and getting gently lectured by him, on how the dog would feel afraid and lonely.
• My ophthalmologist asking me if I wanted pineapple or strawberry-flavoured eye drops. I was six or so. (More than three decades later, he’s still the one taking care of my eyes.)