Our childhood memories have a special way of staying with us, even as the years pile on and life becomes a whirlwind of responsibilities. Some memories are fleeting, like a scent or a color. Others are so powerful that they continue to shape us long after childhood fades. For me, there is one memory that holds more weight than most—a moment that, though simple, taught me about love, connection, and what really matters in life.

Now, as a mother, I often return to that memory, not just to relive it, but to recreate it for my own son. Because I’ve come to realize that the most valuable gift I can offer him is not a perfect life, but a childhood filled with warm, real, present moments.

The Memory That Changed Me

I was six years old, growing up in a modest home surrounded by nature, love, and the occasional chaos of siblings. It was a quiet Friday afternoon, and the week had been long. My father, a hardworking man with tired eyes and a kind heart, came home earlier than usual. That alone was a gift.

He walked in with a brown paper bag—something small and crinkly, but enough to light up our faces with joy. Inside were two warm, sticky jilapis, still glowing orange with syrup and slightly crisp at the edges.

We didn’t wait. My siblings and I rushed to the veranda, our usual spot for moments that mattered. The breeze was gentle, carrying the smell of wet earth and blooming flowers. My father sat with us. No phone, no television, no rushing. Just us. He broke the jilapis into pieces so everyone got a taste. And we laughed. About what? I don’t remember. But I do remember the feeling—a heart full of love, safety, and sweetness.

It Was Never About the Jilapi

Looking back, I understand now that it wasn’t about the treat. It wasn’t about what he brought to us—it was about what he brought of himself. His full presence. His attention. His decision to pause his adult world and step into our little one for just a while.

That afternoon stayed with me. It wasn’t photographed or documented. There were no Instagram filters, no reels, no captions. Just a moment so powerful in its simplicity that it etched itself into my heart.

What he gave us that day was more than a sugary sweet—he gave us the feeling of being seen, being heard, being loved. And that, to a child, is everything.

The Pressure of Modern Motherhood

As I entered motherhood myself, I felt overwhelmed by all the expectations. Social media was filled with picture-perfect moms, DIY crafts, bento box lunches, and endless parenting advice. I tried to keep up. I wanted to give my son everything.

But then, during a quiet evening while cleaning, I came across an old diary entry about that jilapi day. It stopped me in my tracks.

I had forgotten what made my childhood feel so special—it wasn’t expensive toys or elaborate vacations. It was the moments. The ones that couldn’t be bought, only felt.

And suddenly, it clicked: my son didn’t need a “Pinterest mom.” He needed me. Not the best version of me. Just the present, loving, emotionally available version. The one who would pause to sit beside him, laugh with him, hold space for his joy and sorrow.

Recreating the Magic for My Son

Since then, I’ve made a conscious decision to recreate my favorite memory—not exactly the same way, but in spirit. Every Friday after Asr prayer, we have what I now call our “Sweet Hour.”

Sometimes it’s jilapis, sometimes cookies or seasonal fruits. The treat doesn’t matter. What matters is that during that time, I put my phone away, turn off the TV, and give my son my full, uninterrupted attention.

We sit on a mat near the window or outside in the courtyard if the weather is kind. He tells me about his drawings, his wild ideas about dragons or flying cars, or how he helped a friend. I listen. I respond. I smile, even when I’m tired.

And just like that, the legacy continues—not through things, but through feelings.

The Lessons Hidden in the Memory

I want to pass on more than a tradition—I want to pass on values. These small moments are rich with silent teachings.

  • Presence is love. In a world that glorifies multitasking, being fully present is a rare, powerful act of love.
  • Joy doesn’t have to be expensive. One jilapi. One conversation. One laugh. That’s all it takes.
  • Traditions create emotional anchors. As kids grow up, they remember patterns more than isolated events. A small, consistent ritual makes a big impact.
  • Feelings last longer than facts. My son may forget what sweet we shared, but he’ll remember how he felt: safe, loved, valued.

How It Affects My Parenting

Recreating this memory has changed how I parent in the day-to-day. I’ve slowed down. I’ve become more intentional. I’ve learned to let go of perfection and focus on connection.

When my son cries, I try to feel with him, not just fix the problem. When he succeeds, I don’t just say “good job,” I let him see how proud I am. I kneel down, look into his eyes, and let him know he matters. Every single day.

The memory from my childhood is no longer just mine. It’s now his, too. Not in the same shape, but with the same soul.

Small Ways You Can Create Lasting Memories with Your Child

If you’re reading this as a parent, know that it doesn’t take much to build powerful memories. Here are some ideas inspired by my own journey:

  • Create a weekly “date” with your child – just 30 minutes of undivided attention.
  • Involve them in simple activities like cooking, folding clothes, or gardening.
  • Make time for storytelling—tell them stories from your childhood or your parents’ lives.
  • Write letters or draw together, even if it’s messy.
  • Have a snack ritual—like tea and biscuits at the same time every week.

It’s not about doing big things. It’s about doing small things with big love.

Why Childhood Memories Matter So Much

Childhood is the foundation of our emotional world. The experiences we collect during those years shape how we love, how we trust, and how we see ourselves.

When we create meaningful memories for our children, we’re doing more than making them smile—we’re helping them develop emotional security, resilience, and a sense of belonging. We’re giving them something that no one can take away: the inner strength that comes from being deeply loved.

Final Thoughts: A Sweet Circle of Love

That afternoon with jilapis and laughter was a small dot in my childhood timeline. But it grew into a symbol of what matters most—connection, presence, love. Today, I try to offer that same feeling to my son. And maybe one day, when he’s grown and a parent himself, he’ll remember our Sweet Hours. Maybe he’ll recreate them too, in his own way, for his own child.

That is how love echoes through generations—not in things, but in moments.

So if you ask me what my favorite childhood memory is, I’ll tell you it was the day my father brought home two pieces of jilapi—and gave me a lifetime of warmth in return. And if you ask me why I want to recreate it for my son? Because I want him to remember what love feels like.

FAQs

Q: Can small traditions really impact a child’s memory?
A: Yes. Consistent, emotionally rich routines—even small ones—help children feel secure and valued, building long-term positive memories.

Q: What’s more important—quality time or quantity time?
A: Both matter, but if you’re short on time, quality time—being fully present and emotionally available—has a lasting impact.

Q: How can I make my child feel loved daily?
A: Through eye contact, active listening, physical touch (like hugs), and simple affirmations like “I love you,” or “I’m proud of you.”

Q: I didn’t have happy childhood memories—can I still create some for my child?
A: Absolutely. You are not defined by your past. By being intentional and loving, you can give your child the warmth you may have missed.