15 Childhood Stories That People Still Share With a Smile on Their Faces

Childhood memories never fade. It’s impossible to forget the fortress of pillows, the taste of water from a hose and finger batteries. In adulthood, you won’t find such adventures anymore. But sometimes you can return for a moment to those times when the main transport was a bicycle and summer seemed endless, thanks to our childhood memories.

And in the bonus section, you’ll find a couple of stories about adults who puzzle children.

• My mother likes to tell me the story about how I saw a homeless man with a long and gray beard in the street, and for some reason I decided it was Santa Claus. I started jumping with happiness, let go her hand and ran up to him to ask if he had a present for me. At that moment, the man was standing near the dumpster, digging in it, and didn’t realize at once that I was talking to him.
  When he did, he started smiling, played along, and told me that he really was Santa Claus, and then he took a colorful lid out of the dumpster and gave it to me! My mum says she’s never seen me so happy. © Caramel / VK
• When I was 8 years old, my mother took me on our yearly trip to Jellystone Park. After our campground was set up, she gave me $20 to go play in the arcade across the street while she “unwinded.” I went across the street and exchanged the $20 for quarters at the food counter. I looked around.
  There were the usual games: racing, pool table, air hockey, etc. There was also my favorite: Flintstone Pinball. I played it for a while, then wandered across the room toward the stuffed animal claw game. There was an adorable teddy bear that I really wanted.
  I remember pressing my face against the glass, wishing I was allowed to play. But I wasn’t. It was gambling. A waste of money. Stupid. Dejected, I turned away.
  A teenager was watching me. She asked if I wanted something out of there. I said yes, but I wasn’t allowed to play it. My mother would be mad. She frowned and asked me which one I wanted. I pointed to the bear. She spent 20 minutes and $10 of her time and money to get me the bear.
  I squealed when she handed it to me and I buried my face in its fur. I tried to pay her back, but she refused it, saying: “If you ever see someone sad, try and help them. Pay it forward. That’s how you can pay me back.”
  I never forgot her. She was a stranger. But she was so nice to me. She spent her own money just to put a smile on my face. © Sami Darby / Quora
• My friend and I were 12 years old, learning how to kiss on tomatoes. We went to my grandmother’s garden, picked the biggest ones and ran back inside. We’re sitting there, kissing tomatoes, and then grandma runs in, shouting, “Where did you take my tomatoes? I left them for pickling!”
  My friend and I turned red as those tomatoes. Then we watered my grandmother’s tomatoes every day.
• On my way home from work I went for groceries, bought meat, potatoes, herbs, but forgot bread. I called my younger daughter, she was just passing by the shop. She bought it. We have a bakery nearby, the bread was still warm. So she couldn’t resist, she tore off a piece of the crust and ate it on the way.
  She hands the loaf to me and looks me in the eye. And I remembered the kid whom my mom used to send for bread. And how she scolded him later for nibbling the loaf from all sides. It was so long ago. I could understand my mom, she had 2 more children and a husband to feed with this bread.
  And the kid knew it, but the bread was very fresh, still warm, and the smell of it was amazing. I hugged my daughter and kissed her behind the ear, and wouldn’t let go. She doesn’t need to see her father’s tears rolling down his cheek. © Cepewa / Pikabu

• My parents sent me to the village to my grandparents for the summer. And my first “these days” started there. I’m in shock, can’t understand what’s going on. I’m sitting in the shed, crying. Grandma understood everything, ran to the shop.
  And Grandad squatted down next to me and said, “Why are you bleating like a sheep? Here’s a heart for you!” — and he held out a little heart made of wire. I kept it in my school pencil case for a long time as a souvenir.
• When I was 7 years old, my father took me to work with him. He worked as a professional diver. There I saw how 4 big men dressed my father in a 3-bolt diving suit, and he, looking like an astronaut, weighed down with weights, went down the ramp into the black water. I was very scared for him, but I didn’t show it.
  But the men must have noticed how worried I was and let me talk to my father on the phone. Then we ate delicious noodles with canned meat and drank juice in the canteen. And they let me drive a real diving tugboat. It was cool, and it was 55 years ago. © MAPK.TBEH / Pikabu
• This happened when I was 4 or 5. I lived with my parents in an apartment in Sharjah. A Pakistani aunty used to live in the opposite flat. She was fond of me, and used to bring me sweets and chocolates whenever she visited us. Here’s how I gave a shock of her life.
  One day she made egg pie. She brought the whole pie in a container that was closed with a lid. She came to me with the pie, opened the lid and showed me what she has got for me. The moment she opened it, I got the smell (stink) of egg, and immediately I hated the dish even without tasting it.
  She: See, I’ve made this for you! You’ll love it. Please have a bite.
  I: Aunty, I’ll taste it later (I feared I’ll puke if I taste it).
  She started forcing me and then took a piece of the pie and stuffed it into my mouth. Immediately, I closed my mouth and rushed to the washroom to throw up. I came back and found that the aunty was gone. After this, she never made the mistake of forcing me to eat anything. © Siji Ram / Quora

• I remembered a day at my dad’s work. The primary school classes were brought to the village club for a Christmas play. My dad worked in the club as a decorator. Then everyone was taken away by their parents, and he took me to his office.
  I remember that it smelled deliciously of sweets and oil paint. It was a small room under the roof where one wall was slanted. He fixed holders for felt-tip pens, brushes, pencils on it, so that everything would be at hand, and put a huge table under it. There was a kettle and an old magnetic tape recorder.
  I sit down in the armchair, my father turns on some music, treats me to a delicious tea with chocolates, because Christmas Eve is the only time when you can eat them in abundance. Then he gives me some paint-stained but huge piece of paper. And I can draw whatever I want on it, take any felt-tip pens and paints. And there are so many of them, it’s not our sets of 5–6 colors.
  And the whole life is still ahead, and it seems that only good things are waiting for you in the future. There were a lot of different things in the future, of course. But that frosty Christmas Eve has stayed with me forever. © Amalteya / Pikabu
• When I was a kid, I thought calling your parents by their first names is a cool thing. I guess I was heavily influenced by some American movies where parents have peer-like relationships with their child. I didn’t know that it could be considered as a disrespectful behavior.
  I wanted to call my mom with her name, which is not a Turkish name (she’s Georgian), so one day my mom visited my school for a parent-teacher conference. I was with my friends when I saw her walking with their parents. So I called out to get her attention: “Maria, Maria, hey, hello.” I was thinking to myself, how awesome, we are like an American family!
  My friends sincerely thought it was very cool to call my mom by her name as well. So I kept calling her like that and she never warned me. After a few days, my dad heard me calling her Maria, and he scolded me severely for being impudent. © Gizem / Quora
• My parents’ flat had an attic. We stored onions there. When I was in the kitchen, I could often hear some sort of scraping noises coming from there. I was a silly little girl, and nothing smarter came into my mind than to think that it was a household deity.
  I was delighted and started to give it “gifts.” A piece of cheese, grapes, bread. And the following day, I would climb up to check — and there was nothing of my offerings. I couldn’t believe it!
  Until one day I saw a mouse that was munching and getting fat from the offerings and couldn’t run away in time. I haven’t believed in household deities since then. © Told / VK
• My friend and I buried a message to the future ourselves. I remember that day clearly. It was summer, we were 10 years old, we had recently watched a movie where the main characters dug up a time capsule. We took my grandmother’s jar, some pieces of paper and started writing tips to ourselves, questions and wishes.
  We planned to open it when we finished school and were 18 years old. Now my friend and I are 25, and we still can’t remember where we buried that damn capsule! © Caramel / VK

• I was very curious. I explored everything in my yard and with my friends in the street. I always came home dirty, with something I found, and my mum often scolded me asking not to bring nasty things into the house.
  Once I was digging in the garden for a long time in search of something interesting and, to my amazement, dug up a mole. “Mum, mum, look, what an ugly doggy I found,” I ran up to her with my trophy, being sure that I had dug up a dog.
  Since then, my mum’s been afraid of moles. And of me a little bit. © Caramel / VK
• My grandmother often forced me to come to the kitchen to teach me how to cook. She used to say that it was a must-have skill if I wanted to find a decent, rich husband. I believed her then. Day and night I was standing by the stove and learned how to cook soup, bake pancakes and various pies.
  Now I have a boyfriend, soon-to-be husband. He’s a programmer, he earns a lot, so I never cook for him. We order deliveries, we don’t even have a proper stove at home!
  Oh, Grandma, if you could see me now. You would be proud of me because I know how to cook and found a rich husband, and I don’t cook for days on end! © Caramel / VK
• Morning, 10 a.m. I and my brand-new girlfriend, actually it was my first time that I’ve made any girlfriend, we decided to have our first kiss so she came to my house with a math textbook in her hand that we are going to study together. We both were sitting on a chair in front of the study table and I joined whole of guts to kiss her (it took more than an hour).
  Yeah, I started kissing and when I completed I noted somebody was standing behind me. I turned back and what? Yup, it was my mom holding the breakfast tray, she was just staring at me, put that tray on the table and left the room. Mom and I didn’t talk about it that day, and after that she never asked about the incident. © Shivendra Pandey / Quora
• My favorite childhood memory with my mom was when I was in kindergarten. I distinctly remember coming home from school and sitting at the kitchen table where my mom would give me with a jelly sandwich, a glass of milk, and a napkin. She would sit down and ask about my day. Then we would play together all afternoon.
  It was the only time we got together, just the 2 of us. As a kindergartner, I only went to school in the morning while my siblings were out all day. That was also the last year my mom was a stay-at-home mom.
  During that school year, my mom and dad got divorced, and she had to start working 2 jobs. I didn’t get to spend much time with her, and all the time I did spend with her was shared with my 4 other siblings. I treasure the memory of the time when it was just me and my mom having fun. © Angela Leshuk / Quora

Bonus: Sometimes adults can perplex children.

• In 4th grade, we drew a Christmas tree. Everyone had triangles, but I was an artist’s daughter, so my tree had needles and was very realistic.
  I showed it to the teacher, and she said, “That’s not right. Look how the other children draw it,” and she scribbled all over my drawing with the red pen. And then I raised my eyebrows and said, “What the hell?” © Overheard / Ideer

And here are some nostalgic pictures that unlock forgotten childhood memories.