ten random beliefs
When I was a little girl, all of the older members of my family spoke the language of their home country. I used to think that when you got old, you automatically knew how to speak Yiddish.
when i was little, i used to think that cars had faces and talked to eachother in the parking lot.
I used to believe that the world is a snow globe for giants and they would sit and watch us move around for their entertainment.
I grew up with a cardiovascular condition that required open heart surgery. My parents took me to the doctor for a check-up and I started screaming like a raving lunatic. I got covered in sweat and started crying and my brother even swears I pee'd on myself. My parents finally calmed me down and asked what was wrong. My brother told me that when I went into the doctor's office he was going reach into my chest and pull out my heart, fix it, and then put it back in. He had seen it on one of those Indiana Jones documentaries our father watched...
I grew up in a very small town in Illinois. When my parents took me to Peoria (population about 150,000), I saw my first motorcycle police officer. His motorcycle was beautiful -- low-slung and white, with shining white saddlebags across the back. I just KNEW they contained ice cream.
I used to believe that the lines down the middle of the road were painted on by someone leaning out the passenger side window of a car. I just assumed you had to have a really steady hand and long arms to get hired for the job.
Ah, the stories I could tell on my superstitions..
But one of my personal favourite beliefs as a kid had to be my fears of ghosts. They literally haunted my childhood.
This is a little long..
I was one of those kids with an overactive imagination and a love of horror films, which quickly proved a bad combination. I was hooked on the films during the day and terrified once the lights went out.
All of this resulted in the eventual belief forming that if I did not have every part of my body covered by the duvet, a ghost could grab me and "drag me away." I was never clear on where I would be dragged; just certain I would be pulled from the safety of my bed into some place of unknown horrors.
"The duvet rule" as I referred to it, was not only necessary when I was in bed. It was also vital if I got up in the night to use the bathroom or get a drink.
So, imagine the fun as, my head covered by a duvet, and my hands clutching the sheets around me, I shuffled down the landing, feeling my way to the bathroom each night. It made quite a sight for my parents, should they wake up.
Also, I was firmly convinced that a ghost lived under my bed. Don't ask me how. But I was convinced an evil spirit waited there for me and it was only a matter of time before we met up. To prevent this, I went to the extremes of keeping a hammer beside my bed.
This belief died a death the night when, my dear older brother, who knew of every one of these fears, decided to hide under my bed after everyone was asleep, for his idea of a joke. He waited there, shook the bed slightly until I woke up, and then slid his hand up and grabbed my ankle.
I was prepared for the moment. I let out a blood-curdling scream, reached out, grabbed my hammer, leant down to my ankle, and firmly battered the hand holding it.
My parents were not pleased with being woken up. I was not pleased with my brother's sense of humor. My brother was not pleased with entering casualty with three broken bones in his hand.
But one good thing came of it all. For some reason, the night completely erased my fear of ghosts. So I guess it wasn't all bad.
My brother, nursing three broken bones, may not have agreed.
My brother and I used to believe that the Moon had invisible legs. When riding in the back seat with our parents, we were always amazed how the Moon was able to keep up and we could never see it's legs.
I used to beleive that the sighting poles and crosses used in motorway construction sites were actually the hastily dug graves of the poor workers who had died creating the transport system!
My sister and I used to believe that pigs didn't have tails. We tried to remove them from our piggie banks. Later, when we were old enough to work on the farm, we helped cut the tails off young piglets. So then we knew that pigs do indeed come with tails.