I agree with you.  I cannot give you the exact date I became a Christian because I was 6 or 7 years old.  I can tell you the details of that day as if it happened today.  When I was in my 30s I became concerned about whether or not I was saved and even prayed the Sinner's Prayer but God spoke to my heart.  It was not necessary for me to pray again because He had saved me as a child.
 
I was playing outside in the yard under the mulberry trees on the rope swing Dad had tied in one of the trees.  I was swinging and singing and enjoying the solitude.  It was a Sunday afternoon because Mom and Dad and my brothers were all napping in the house.  Dad was a farmer and he was never home to nap during the day except on Sunday.
 
It was summer because I remember the trees were green, I was barefoot and it was warm.  I can remember the cattle in the pasture near the house.  I remember the smells of the heat of the sun on the grass of the field.  I remember the songs of birds and the buzzing of bees.
 
I came to the realization that if I died I would not go to Heaven.  I knew my Mom and Dad were Christians and would go to Heaven when they died.  I, quite simply, knew in my child's heart I had to ask Jesus into my life.  I ran into the house and told my parents I wanted to be a Christian and ask Jesus into my life.  We prayed.
 
The church was in a "brush arbor revival".  It was a very small Baptist church in Ireland, Texas.  Brother Sam Longbottom was our pastor.  The evangelist was from Mineral Wells, Texas but I can't remember his name.  I remember that he was tall and dark headed but everyone was tall to me then.
 
At the end of the service, I went down to the front.  I was the only one that evening.  My great grandmother began to roll around on the wooden pew and to moan and cry.  I began to cry because I wasn't sure what was happening to Granny.  The visiting preacher patted my shoulder consolingly but as soon as he let me go, I ran to Granny to make sure she was okay.  She was just happy that I had gone to the front.
 
The pastor, Brother Sam, prayed with me in the church building afterward.  About the only prayer I knew was the Now I lay me down to Sleep prayer and that did not seem to be appropriate, so I went straight to the God bless Mommy and Daddy, etc.  When I said "Amen", Brother Sam looked at me and said, "You didn't pray for yourself".
 
They told me I couldn't be baptized because we baptized in the river and I was so little I might just float right out of Brother Sam's arms and float right down the river.  That sounded logical to me and I sure didn't want to float downt that river.
 
When I was 9, I was baptized in Immanuel Baptist Church in San Angelo, Texas.  Taylor Henley was the pastor.  The church had built the education building with the baptismal tank where the sanctuary would eventually be built.  Back then churches built what they could afford at the time and did not have a lot of debt.  The little room in front of the baptismal tank was so small and the tank was so high up in the wall that it was difficult to see who was being baptized.  Only people directly related to the person being baptized were down there.  Just wasn't room for the whole congregation.  It was a cold night and I went outside with my wet hair.  No blow dryers or curling irons back then either.  I caught a bad cold.
 
Do I remember the exact dates?  No.  Do I remember what I was wearing?  No.  I don't think that is all that important when you consider I was a young child.  Those things were not important to me and I don't think they were important to my Heavenly Father.  What was and is important to Him was the condition of my heart.  I was young and my faith in God was and continues to be a childlike faith.  He is my Abba, my Daddy, my Heavenly Father.