Fireflies inside of a mason jar.
Acting big behind the wheel of daddy’s car.
Playing church around the old piano stand,
You were quite a preacher and oh, we sang so grand.
I remember every night what we would say and do:
“If you’ve forgiven me, then I’ve forgiven you.”
And now when life begins to get the best of me,
I reminisce these childhood memories.

We built a raft and traveled all around the world,
And stopped for penny candy at the corner store.
You let me fly your kite but when I dropped the string.
I thought my life was over, but Mama rescued me.
When I was just a kid you taught my prayers to me.
Then you turned around and you told me about those birds and bees.
Come what may, you’ve been endeared to me,
Because we share these childhood memories.

Instrumental bridge.

Well, time, it moved so fast; those days are over now.
We’ve all gone our separate ways, but still somehow,
I often need to telephone and talk to you,
To see if you remember things the way I do.
It won’t be too much longer `til we’ll be old and gray,
And winding up our travels here on life’s highway.
But no matter where I roam, I’ve got you here with me:
When I reminisce these childhood memories.


To end.

2 thoughts on “#TBT: For years I’ve listened to Iris Dement sing “Childhood Memories” and thought “you were one lucky kid, do you know that, Iris?” to finish each day with “If you’ve forgiven me, than I forgive you.” Alternate Title to this #TBT: 7 Kids and One Mum (I’m not sure why Dad isn’t in this picture; but that’s perhaps a metaphor?)

  1. At yoga I remembered the WHY of this picture. Dad was in the nursing home and one of my sisters–Susie,was it you?–assembled the seven of us, plus a littler pix of our mother so that Dad could look at us through the fog of what was left of his brain after by-pass surgery. For years Mum insisted that with therapy he could recover since it had been her experience after all but the last of her strokes. I admire her doggedness on this issue. It was her trademark. At some point, though, she conceded that his brain had indeed been destroyed by the tiny bits of plaque that got loose while the heart surgeon was manipulating his aorta and such. He lived another 8 years. His heart was strong, plus he wasn’t eating as many frappes and nabs, supposedly a source of his clogged arteries. I used to love coming by his law office after ballet lessons and sharing a frappe and one of those peanut butter crackers with him and Joanie, the secretary, whom we all loved, Dad included.


  2. A frappe (rhymes with rap) only exists in Massachusetts. Think: ice-cream and milk. Other People call them milkshakes. My husband comes from RI where they call milkshakes “cabinets.” Friendly’s used to sell Fribbles which to my mind were what I remembered frappes to be. A frappe is NOT a frappe when it’s pronounced fra-PAY). Just saying.


Plz leave a comment here.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s