If one flower rings the childhood bell for me, it's the primrose. They were always in my dad's flowerbeds when I was growing up. I'll never know if it was happenstance, or because he loved them. But they were always there.
It's become a tradition with me, to buy a new primrose plant at the end of winter each year, and I always choose purple with a yellow eye. Not because that's the color I remember from childhood, but because this is the one that survives, and thrives. I've tried white and yellow and pink, but they die out after a year.
As I clear weeds from the gardens this week, I'll be dividing the primroses and sharing them among the beds. And next winter, they'll be the first to bloom... as they do each year.
Purple always survives.