A childhood belief about places

While growing up in the Appalachian foothills, I believed that we drove past Mount Rushmore on the way to my grandparents' house, less than 50 miles away. These rocks were just places that the highway had been cut through the mountains, so of course they looked nothing like faces. That didn't shatter my beliefs, however. Nor did the lack of tourists. I instead just thought that adults must be idiots to think that those rocks were special.