The memory I always think of when I think 'childhood' is being in our backyard with my Dad. This is especially noteworthy because I hate being outside. But I loved it back then. One day my Dad was painting the chairs and benches and I wanted to help, desperately. So Dad fetched me a bucket of water and my own paint brush. I painted the ground, the rocks, chairs, stairs, everything. I loved it, I loved feeling like I was part of the job. That in some tiny way I was really making a difference. In reality I'm sure I was just in the middle and frustratingly annoying.
P.S. the Internet is down at my house so I'm writing on my phone, never again!