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In 3rd grade we started learning about immigrants so naturally I was curious and asked my dad where we came from. He told me that my great-grandparents were royalty and came to America when their small country rebelled so they wouldn't be beheaded. I went around for a year after this telling everyone I was a princess and when I grew up I would go back to this country and claim the throne.
When I was little around 5 (im adopted and have know since I can remember) I was always told I could ask what ever I wanted (about my adoption or really anything),and my mom would always give me a truthful answer...So after running out of 5 year old like questions (hard for a kid to do) I just liked for my mom to tell me stories about bringing me home and what not..In one story I remember her telling me that my dad made my bottle for me while she rocked me...I was plagued and amazed that my dad could actually make a bottle...I imagined him with a big sheet of plastic somehow bending and forming it to make a bottle.I was about 10 when I realized what he was actually doing in the story...fixing my formula!I was crushed!
When I was little my father was obviously taller than me. Therefore, when he wanted to talk to me face to face he would squat down. I thought this was a game, though, and I would squat too. It took years for me to realize my dad was just trying to talk to me with no intentions of a game.
When I was little, I had two close black friends whose adoptive parents were a white lesbian couple. I also had two black cousins that my white aunt and uncle adopted. So when I was 5 or 6, I didn't know any black kids who lived with their birth parents. One day my parents were watching a movie and I walked in during a scene where a black woman was crying and saying "They're going to take my baby away from me". So, using what was apparently good logic at the time, I assumed that the U.S. government forced black people to give up their babies to white people. I finally got corrected when we were learning about Martin Luther King in 2nd grade and I raised my hand and asked why no one protested the law about blacks not being allowed to have babies. She gave me a pretty strange look for a while, there.
When I was little my brother told me that I was actually a gypsy, and he'd call them so they'd take me back. He even told me my gypsy name: Rebecca Goldstein. I believe him until I was 8.
I used to believe that my Dad could fix absolutely ANYTHING with sellotape
As a kid and only child, my parents would travel and take me with them. But I wouldn't necessarily like the look of the food in the countries visited. So my parents told me my Oma (grandmother) had sent chicken soup. As there was always some chicken-base soup on the menu, I was served that and genuinely believed my Oma sent it to me by plane wherever I went.
When my mom was pregnant with my little sister I thought that if she was a boy than I would have to become a boy too. I prayed for a little sister.
when i was little, i asked my dad what his favorite color was. annoyed, he replied, 'clear', and from then on till i was about 8, i thought clear was a real color. it wasn't until i was 10 that i finally realized that clear was not considered a color in the rainbow. the fact that it took me that long makes me sad...
I used to think that if my mom had a new baby, we would have to send my little brother back to make room!
As children, when my sisters and I fought, someone would always end the argument by exclaiming that they were going to tell mommy on the others. This always ended with the others begging desperately for the first to not tell. I was cnvinced that 'telling' on a person was somehow a magic way to get what you wanted. One day, I got very mad at my mom for not giving me my way, so I triumphantly declared, "Mommy, I'm telling YOUR mommy on you!" Not only did I not get my way, I couldn't figure out why my mom wouldn't stop laughing.
When I was very little, I told my dad that when I was older, I would have a daughter called Rosemary, and her middle name would be Vulture.
I had my heart set on that name.
My naughty friend has a 3 year old son... and let me tell you she is starting a whole new generation of strange beliefs
She tells her son if hes naughty the garbage man is coming to put him in the bin
She tells him she has installed surveillance in his bedroom so santa can monitor him
So many other when i remember them ill post
when I was about 4, my parents would tell me that children are brought by some big birds,so every time I had a fight with my brother, I would ask my mother to call that bird to come and take him back!!..
when I was young, my parents would tell me and my elder brother that they bought us from a pair of gipsies that had too many children, unlike my younger brother who was royalty. having them say so all they time, I found myself believing it and had all those nightmares about my parents giving us back to the gipsies...!
When I was about three my mom had to go to the hospital and when we got there I annouced I wanted a baby sister. My mom said ok not understanding I wanted to get one there. When it was time to go I siad "But I wanted a baby sister!"
When I was little that when children grew up to be adults that they grew back down to be children and babies again. I never knew where old people came into the picture. I guess my head got screwed up somewhere.
I used to believe that Grandparents were assigned to their grandchildren. When I was four I used to ask my mom if her mom died and she would say "No, Grandma is my mom." I had to ask her a few times before I finally remembered it though.
My mother had many misconceptions about things when she was younger. Her and her friends were imaginative - they would take a large piece of lint, run down the street as fast as tehy could, and think they were flying off to Candyland. She also thought the TV could hear her when she talked.
I used to believe my grandfather was the Scourge of the Seven Seas!
My father would tell me tales of his father's great adventures as a pirate; my grandfather was an amputee, and he had a "wooden leg," lending massive credibility (I was maybe 4) to these stories. One day, my grandfather had a gift for me: a bag of golden coins. Even after I discovered that they were chocolates I thought "wow, he *really is* a pirate!"