When I was little, I figured there were three countries named after food: Turkey, Greece and Rice. My mom told me more than once that Rice was not a country, but I didn’t believe her. I pretended to be convinced. There was no point in arguing with a grownup who clearly knew so little of the world. I decided to travel to Rice when I grew up. I’d send her a postcard.
In Kindergarten I figured out where babies came from. Armed with my limited knowledge of anatomy I realized that a man stuck his penis into a vagina, whereupon one of his testicles would shoot out and implant itself inside the womb. The testicle was, of course, a small baby surrounded by a thin, protective membrane.
An informal survey of my friends revealed that none of us had more than two nuts. So the real mystery was not how babies were made, but how families ended up with more than two kids.
I believed that the people on television were actually miniature people who lived inside my television. I convinced myself that if I waved to them and talked to them, eventually they would wave and talk back. It used to disappoint me to no end that the people inside had no interest in talking to me.
Strangely enough, now that I’m older and no longer believe that miniature people live inside my television, I still find that I have a habit of gesturing and talking to the people on my television.
I also thought that when I listened to the radio the band was playing live. And when we turned the radio up some guy that was recording the band made them play louder.
So what about you? What did you use to believe?