This is probably the very first memory, so far back that you had to relay it to someone else decades later and ask what it meant.

A room of babies. Grandparents in a hall hold you up to a window to look in the room. They point. One of the babies has some vague connection to you, you sense. Then a stir. Everyone turns. Down the hall, around the corner, he comes, in dark pants, toes turned out. You are glad. You know you have a connection to him. A cheer goes up, or some similar congratulatory sound. He raises his arm and waves as everyone rushes toward each other.

Picture:
Webb AFB, 1962 (seven years before the events of this post)