My earliest memories are of learning that I could fly and that I could breathe underwater. Also, that there were dinosaurs in our backyard. These may have been dreams. One of the earliest memories that I am pretty sure is real is of a duck trying to eat my toe (It was bandaged up following an ill-advised encounter with a scorpion, and looked like one of the marshmallows we’d been feeding them). A couple more are my brother reading me bedtime stories (Poe – The Raven, The Telltale Heart, The Pit and the Pendulum, etc. (I was 5 and he was 9)) and at age 6 getting a dog, and naming him Finley because we finally got a dog, but “here Finally” sounded awkward. His middle name was Parentheses, because he was bow-legged.
Most of my other childhood memories are the usual assortment you’d find in the head of someone who grew up in a dysfunctional family, and may or may not be discussed later.