And now you are 10

You're the big 1-0 this week and despite my best efforts, I will once again be away for the big day. We talked about it and in typical Micaela fashion, you're okay with it. (I did promise you an entire week of birthday starting when I get home, but still, I appreciate your understanding.)

If you've been reading back through my blog posts from the last 10 years, you'll notice that they've more or less stopped in recent months. That's because, as you know, I had to turn my creative energy to writing a book. It's also because you've become far more aware of your personal right to not have all your personal anecdotes and cute photos shared out on social media via my blog and facebook posts.

But I'm so happy I wrote all I wrote. Over the years we've gone for long walks in the woods, we've explored pre-school politics together, we've hung out with the Tooth Fairy, we've enjoyed many playgrounds and restaurants (including that time we re-enacted the spaghetti scene from Lady and the Tramp), you've said many, many innocently wise things, and I've just generally observed you, agape, as you grew into the amazing person you are. I hope you feel lucky that so much of this has been documented for you.

I've gone back and read NONE of it because frankly I don't think I could (certainly while sitting in the Air Canada Lounge surrounded by a bunch of boring business people who would probably point at me and laugh once they saw I had tears streaming down my face). I hope you do though.

But it's time now that we leave this chapter of your life (and my life) behind. It's time I stop gushing about you publicly and sharing things without your permission. Unless, maybe, we start doing this together? (You gushing about me and sharing cute stories about me growing up?)

And since that's what this is...my last chance (before a wedding speech) to talk about you unedited by you...and given that it is your 10th and that's a big deal, I will make this a final (public) birthday letter. Then I'll find a new writing muse (not a puppy, hamster, guinea pig, ferret or llama - so don't bother asking) and share my thoughts about you with you privately from now on.

Here goes...

Micaela at 10: Smart. Hilarious. Deeply introspective (look it up). Generous to a fault. Messy as hell. Carefree - still dancing like no one is watching. Inundated with friends who all want to have her to themselves, and able to make each one of them feel like they do. Beautiful. Hard working. Independent, except when she doesn't want to be (a trait she shares with both of her sisters). Creative. Clumsy. Extremely resilient. Hates going to bed at any time in any circumstances. A burgeoning foodie and thus, a burgeoning expensive date. Just a lovely human being.

Your sisters, Mom and I certainly take some pride in the shaping-of-you that we've done over your first 10 years. It's been a five-person effort to make you who you are (since you probably had something to do with it as well). Somehow, though, it feels like we're reaching the point where it's going to be mostly you, supported by us, who takes it from here (in terms of continuing to grow into the person you'll become). I hope you're ready for that. It'll require lots of contributions from us, but on your terms. Asking for help. Pushing us away when we're getting in the way. We like to do that.

Advice?

Keep doing what you're doing. Always believe in yourself. You have tremendous instincts. Trust what they're telling you about people, about situations you find yourself in, and about life in general. You owe it to everyone else to share your point of view on things because you're a rare person and will have important insights that others won't.

Be a rock for people, because you can be. Accommodate others' needs because you don't mind doing that and helping others is one of the most important things you can do. Trust in people and make sure you are always someone they can trust.

But don't be a pushover. Look after yourself too. Be a rock for Micaela. Accommodate your needs. Help yourself. If there's a B+ on your personal growth report card (where everything else is an A+) it's in this area. And it's really important to keep an eye on. Don't be selfless in all things. Know what matters to you and fight for those things as hard as you would for someone else's things.

It's never going to be easy to be a girl (and woman, later). That's really too bad because it shouldn't make a difference in how you're treated, what you can achieve, and how hard it is to do so. If someone is making you feel like you're less because of this or anything else, that's not someone you should invest yourself in. You're not less. You never will be less. And you should never accept less.

An important secret to happiness is to surround yourself with people who know the secret to happiness, which is...wait for it... to always choose to be happy. Be happy with what you have. Find humour even in the bad stuff you go through. Make others happy. Make yourself happy. Be happy.

And be imaginative and silly and lazy (when it's time to be lazy) and hard-working when you're doing something that makes you happy or so that you can be happy, and irreverent (look it up), and deadly serious when it matters, and moody (but self-aware that you are) and completely contradictory in being described as all of these things at once.

Last thing: believe that you can be the absolute best a person can be: Set the bar that high. Then vault right over that bar with your feet flapping magnificently in the air, a smile on your face, a scream of joy in your throat, arms that are wide-open, and a mind that's actively taking it all in.

Let everyone else stare agape at your achievements as you show them how it's done.

I will always be there marvelling and looking for superlatives to express my inexpressible love for you. It's been a joy to share your first 10 years and I hope you continue to demand that I share the next 10 as well (not to mention the millennia after that).

Happy birthday my Micaela.

Chronicles of an Early Riser #23: The Tea Shirt

Ladies and gentlemen, the story you are about to read is true. The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

This is the city: Toronto, Ontario.  I work here. I'm an idiot.

4:13 am

(Scene - Our hero lies awake in a blackened bedroom): It's obvious I'm not getting back to sleep, I should just shower and go downtown to get some work done before today's candidates come in for Training Day. I'll wear my favourite dress shirt and make today a great one!

4:36 am

(Scene - He now shuffles into a morning kitchen, lit only by the outdoor light, aglow to prevent raccoons from pooping on his shed): Look at that - the wife bought a new insulated mug on clearance at HomeSense. I think I'll be a good person today, make tea at home, put it in the mug, and take it on the bus. That'll save $1.75 at Tim Horton's and it's the environmentally conscious thing to do. I'm so smart...and good.

5:36 am

(Scene - Our hero now sits in an otherwise empty office building. The glow of his computer screen gently highlights the accents of his handsome face): Holy cow! The tea is still hot. This was so smart of me - my Tim's would have been cold by now.

6:18 am

(Scene - The sun is now rising and providing a soft backlight for our diligently working hero): Look at that, I'm being so productive that I've forgotten to drink my tea. I think I'll have another little sip of my still-warm tea. So good. I've got to remember to use this insulated mug every morning!

7:11 am

(Scene - The city is just awakening; cars are on the streets below and early-bird pedestrians hoof it to work on the sidewalks. Our hero gazes down at them from above): My how time flies. Candidates are going to be here soon, so I'd better start getting set up for that. I think I've got an interview with one of them promptly at 8. Oh! My tea! STILL WARM! I wonder how much is left. Why don't I just twist off the top and take a peek inside. Mmmm...there's still enough to hold me for now.

(He replaces his insulated mug on his desk, failing to screw the top back on...)

7:14 am

(Scene - Just closing up his computer to move into the training centre, our hero pauses for one more sip of tea): I'm going to have more of that delicious tea -- let me just pick it up off the desk here and take a little sippy-poo.

7:14:38 am

(Scene - He tilts his head to one side, trying to identify the warm sensation flowing down his chest and stomach): WHAT THE FLOCK! (actual words may have been replaced to protect the virgin ears  of younger audiences) HOW THE FLANGE DID I GET FORKING TEA ALL OVER MY FAVOURITE FROLLICKING SHIRT!?!

(It is of course his own fault, having left the lid unscrewed. And now, he is no longer un-screwed.)

7:15 am

(Scene - In a panic, he grabs his iPhone and calls the only person who can help him. She will be downtown later this morning, and she loves him. A groggy, obviously newly-awakened voice answers the phone): Wife! You've got to help me! I spilled tea all over my shirt and I've got people arriving in 45 minutes to meet with me! Can you grab me another shirt and bring it down with you please?

(She agrees and hangs up the phone. Her laughter is a soothing balm for his frayed nerves. He reflects on the time gap. She'll be downtown by 9 and people will be here by 8. He still needs a solution earlier than this one.)

7:18 am

(Scene - The office bathroom. Our hero stands unbuttoning his shirt in front of the counter holding two sinks. He carefully places the tea-soaked spots on the front of his shirt under faucet #1. Faucet #1 awakens as does automatic soap dispenser #1...): SHAMU! FILIBUSTER! The water is now all over my shirt and there are warm, creamy ejaculations of soap all over it now too. This isn't good. I'd better just wash the whole shirt now...like so...and then dry it under these hand dryers...

7:18:41 am

(Scene - Our hero, topless, holding a drenched shirt, turns towards the hand dryers, only to realize that this bathroom does not have hand dryers - just an automated paper towel dispenser): OH CREPES! NO FLOOPING DRYERS!!! WHAT NOW???

(He pulls some paper towels from the dispenser and futilely attempts to dab his shirt dry.)

Well, that's not going to work. Why don't I instead stand here, aggressively flapping my shirt in the wind until it dries. This is probably how they used to do it in the olden days...

(He flaps the shirt wildly for several minutes, before stopping, huffing and puffing from the physical exertion, and realizing that he is getting nowhere).

Wait a minute! Somebody else must be smart enough to keep a spare shirt at the office! I'll just search around until I find one. I'm saved! Saved, I tell you! My scheme is foolproof! But I shouldn't conduct my search topless...I guess I'll just put this drenched shirt back on and have a look-see.

7:29 am

(Scene - Our hero has just finished looking through the entire office and has turned up not so much as a handkerchief. He stands despondent, cold and damp): Wait a minute! Harriet (a work colleague, a Facebook friend, and a person who actually goes by another name) will be in soon...she's helping me with the training day! Let me see if she can help.

(He texts Harriet. After a few minutes, she answers...)

7:51 am

(Scene - Harriet arrives at the office carrying a brown paper bag holding two stylish shirts. They are gently wrapped in tissue paper. After searching Toronto's PATH system for an open haberdashery, she has rescued David, and just in a nick of time. She takes a quick peek at David's wet and wrinkly shirt - he also tried wringing it out - and gives him a little Harriet smile): Harriet, you are a true life saver. Now please answer the office doorbell (which has just rung, heralding the arrival of the 8 am guests) and let's have a tremendous training day!

6:41 pm

(Scene - David arrives home, casts his wet and wrinkly and still favourite shirt in the laundry room, and places the thermal mug in the sink with a scolding attitude. He will wash both later, but for now, he will rest. It has been a day, lessons have been learned, friendships have been deepened, and new shirts have been acquired.)

(Scene - It is later, long after David has gone to bed, and his wife has washed the insulated mug and his favourite shirt. Her love and adoration for him is stronger than ever, but today, she was unable to rescue him. She realizes in fact, that the entire tea incident was her fault. What was she thinking, buying an insulated mug and leaving it tantalizingly available in the kitchen drawer without first explaining its potential hazards? She promises herself that she will try, starting tomorrow, to be a better wife.)

Dear 9-year-old (a letter from a temporarily absent father)

Dear 9-year-old,

It’s your 9^th birthday today and I’m away. You may not believe me, but I think I’m even sadder about this than you are. You will have your birthday without me there. People will sing happy birthday to you and they’ll make you smile. And your mom and your sister will make you feel special. But I will be away.

I feel terrible about this because more than any other day of the year, your birthday is the one day where everybody celebrates YOU. And you are the most celebrate-able and celebration-worthy person I know. Already. At 9.

If I had any choice – any real choice – I’d be there. But I can’t, so instead I am writing you a letter. And instead, I am going to pretend your birthday isn’t until March 9^th, when I’m back home. Okay?

I’ve written letters and notes about you every year since you were born, and when I read back through them I can remember who you were every year of your life. I dread the time when I can’t do this anymore because it’s too embarrassing to you, and your friends might see. So, I’ll wait until you tell me that. For now, I write.

You are a treasure. If it’s even possible, you are more special now than all the years before. You are so smart and funny, you make us shake our heads with awe at some of the things you say and do. Like when we play Quiplash with you and you say something that is completely inappropriate for a child to say but is spot on appropriate to the situation. Or when we’re in the car and you ask a deeply insightful question about something that happened that week, and we don’t even know how you thought to ask. (You should always ask us the hard questions, and sometimes – “you should ask your mom that” is the best you’re going to get from me.)

Amongst other accomplishments this year, you can remember it as the time when you started to get really adventurous with your eating. You had a jalapeno on a burrito. You tried (and liked) scallops. And tacos and nachos and hot and sour soup (which you didn’t like) and other stuff you wouldn’t have touched a year ago.

You have also continued to be someone who will not give up once you’ve decided that you have to accomplish something. This year, for example, it was cartwheels. And consuming every “Annoying Orange” video there is (which was lots of fun for us too…Not!) And climbing ropes, and crossing jungle gyms using only your arms, and rock climbing as fast as you can… The best is when you get frustrated or hurt yourself, then dust yourself off and try again right away. It blows my mind how persistent you are.

Also this year, you encountered your first real bully. And we talked about what to do about it and you handled it. More importantly, you could have gotten away from the bully altogether, but that would have meant him “bullying someone else”, as you patiently explained to us, and that would “just make it their problem – and that’s not right.” So, you didn’t, and you handled it yourself. Unbelievable.

You told me a few days ago that you think you might want to be an architect when you grow up because a) you like structures and buildings, and b) you like the Architect in the Good Place. Both are good reasons to choose what you want to be. I will add that your unbelievably creative mind, your artistic talent, and your doggedness are great things for an architect to possess too, but I like your reasons better. I hope you keep examining everything you encounter in school, on television, and in life to see if it speaks to you. You can be anything. Anything. Believing that is the first step towards being it. (That said, I don't think you should become a Doctor until you can see or even think about seeing blood without getting completely freaked out).

I don’t like the way the world and your age are inevitably conspiring to get between me and you. I’ve seen your sisters start to go on sleepovers and on trips, to hang out with friends instead of me, and eventually to go off to school and leave me behind. I guess that will start happening with you too, soon. It will mean giving up some of the time we spend together, but it will also mean seeing you become all that you can. I guess that’s worth it. (And I’m still really close to your sisters even if we’re not together every day, so I’m sure it will be the same with you).

When it comes to parents and children and spending time together, the most important song ever is Cat's in the Cradle by Harry Chapin. I heard that song when I was young, and I swore that wouldn’t happen to me and my kids. Listen to it and you’ll know what I mean. And yet, here I am – missing a birthday because of work. 

Do not for one minute believe that it means I think there is anything more important than you. Nothing is more important to me and your mom than you and your sisters. And right now – at 9 – while I still have you full-time, and while you still need me (almost) full-time, you are the most important of all.

“When you coming home Dad? I don’t know when, but we’ll be together then, Dad.”  That’s what the song says. But this is not Cat's in the Cradle because I do know when I’ll be home – and that’s tomorrow. I promise to give you twice as many hugs and kisses then.

In the meantime, I hope you understand.

Love you and happy birthday.

10 Life Rules I Learned from My Dad

Why this?

Since most of you didn't have the opportunity to grow up around my father, I think it only fair that I impart to you some of the wisdom that was passed to me by him. I also think that if you know any of my sisters, nieces or nephews, you'll recognize the traces of these traits in them and maybe understand them a little better. Finally, I think this could be mildly amusing...

Save your anger for when it matters

If you know my dad, try to think of a time you saw him angry. Except for a few of you, I've known him longer and I can count on one hand the number of times I saw him angry (and still have enough fingers left to spoil a family photo). The few times I experienced his wrath, I noticed and I remember.   If revenge is a dish best served cold, for my dad anger is a dish best served not at all (like fish, or eggs, or tofu - to his thinking). 

Be the good guy

Of course, someone has to get angry. How else to keep the kids in line? Lesson number two is really about marrying someone willing to be the bad guy,  so you can be the full time good guy. (That's not to say anything disparaging about my mom, but like I said someone has to get angry). If any of us ever wanted a "yes" (or at least a "go ask your mom") we knew who to turn to. Same with quick cash.

Set the bar high

You would think that being the A+ student I was, there would have been a moment in my childhood where I was praised for bringing home a near-perfect mark. But there's the rub: near perfect isn't the same as perfect. Why praise when you can instead say these pithy words: "What happened to the other 3%?" Why am I a perfectionist? Gee, I don't know.

Be irreverent, especially at the most serious of times

Whether making a wedding speech (or a vow renewal speech for that matter), or taking a family portrait, or dealing with respected seniors, or ... probably ... meeting the Queen of England, find an opening for irreverence. Mention the ex-spouse, flip the bird, poke fun, tell a bad joke, insert the word "gonads". When you don't get angry at things, you have to find other ways to be noticed. 

Take everyone seriously

Being irreverent is not the same as being dismissive of others. If you've met him and spent any time with him, the one thing you will certainly know about my dad is that he takes you seriously.  He takes people seriously. Whether you are a 6-year-old grandchild, a junior work associate, or a complete stranger - if you engage my dad in conversation you have is full attention and respect. I think that's because he also firmly believes in the next lesson...

Know that people are good

This wasn't something I had to observe or detect from my dad -- this is a lesson I've heard him deliver over and over, explicitly and clearly: The vast majority of people are good. So vast that whenever you meet anyone, you might as well assume they're good and their intentions are good. He loves people and he taught me to love people and always assume the best about them.

Welcome everyone into your home

Growing up, Friday night dinners were seldom family-only affairs. In fact, they were more like a weekly sitcom, with a different guest star in every episode (featuring recurring jokes, just like any good sitcom, like the flying napkin and the uncomfortable-question-to-the-guest moment, like "What are your intentions with my daughter?") Likewise, if someone was in need, they could find an open door and open arms at my parents' place. (Of course, it may have helped that he didn't have any responsibilities beyond inviting them in, but that's mere speculation.)

Never show weakness or admit defeat

I'm not sure what the value or importance is in this lesson, but who am I to judge? If you lose at Risk, it's not because of some strategic flaw in your game or being outplayed, it's because of your luck with dice. If you lose at ping pong, it's because your back is out. If you make a bet about your son smoking by the time he's 17, and on the occasion of his 17th birthday he reminds you of the bet, smile condescendingly and say you don't make bets. If he later blogs about this as a gentle reminder that he still owes you $100 plus 35 years of interest, smile condescendingly and say "what bet?" (If you know one of his children or grandchildren, by the way, you probably know that this particular trait runs strong in the family.)

Get sentimental at the weirdest moments

I think this lesson is one that fewer people have witnessed personally. There were times, growing up, when we'd all be gathered together for some occasion when out of the blue the irreverent, stubborn high-standards guy would suddenly get all mushy and talk of deep love for, and pride in his kids. My 3 sisters are all cryers, so it's possible he did this for effect, but I choose instead to believe that it was in these moments that all the other priorities in his life were superseded by this last thing...

Love unconditionally and without judgement

I have never been judged by my father. Not once. He doesn't do that. He never withholds his love or respect. He offers advice when asked, and keeps silent when not asked. He supports. He trusts. He roots for you. He believes in you. He puts you first (except if there's a plate of gummy bears around). If and when I struggle with the other items in this list, this one thing is what opens the door to the others.

He's a good guy, my dad.

(A note about my mom: she's the real hero of this piece. Dad couldn't get away with many of the items in this list if he wasn't partnered with exactly the right person. But Mom...this isn't about you. So stop trying to hog the spotlight for once.)

Waiting at the Bottom of the Hill

I wait at the bottom of the hill, a bit cold, a bit hungry and for now, alone.
The eight-year-old is up there somewhere with her instructor and class, on her way back to me.
I can't see her, but class is over and I'm where I'm supposed to be to meet her.

I wish I had learned what she's learning, but I wasn't interested or brave at eight.
I also wasn't interested or brave enough for swimming or skating.
I was good at math and I liked to read.

A group crests the hill and I spot her black coat, pink pants and pink balaclava.
I watch as she slowly winds her way down, marvelling at her progress.
But that's a snowboard, not skis, and definitely not her.

As we drove to class a few hours ago, we talked about nothing.
Which is what we always talk about, with substance and passion.
She had had too much breakfast and wanted to barf, but wanted more to ski.

Another group appears, these ones too big and too fast to include her.
But just in case, I scan for black and pink.
This time, there's no decoy to momentarily fool me, and I go back to waiting.

Last year I tried to ski with her and tore a tendon.
It wasn't a fall or crash that did the damage, just trying to stand up the wrong way.
So she's on her own to learn and enjoy a sport that I will only watch.

Now I think I see her; right speed, right colours, right skis.
I remove my gloves and pull the phone from my pocket to film her triumphant descent.
It's not her and I just filmed some other kid and got cold for nothing.

Being a Dad means waiting at the bottom of the hill.
Not seeing, but trusting that the elsewhere child is okay and will come back.
Loving so deeply that the heart flips with a promising glimpse.
(Like when the older ones pull into the driveway or walk out of the airport luggage return.)

My eyes catch sight of her and I wonder how anyone else could have fooled me before.
She's pizza-ing and french-frying down to me and I feel like a dog at the window watching his people come to the door.
Now she sees me and slides straight into my arms.
I will always happily wait for this.

'Twas the Morning of Christmas (Or "I'm Dreaming of a Green Christmas")

Warning: Some lyrics may offend.

'Twas the morning of Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The shovels all hung by the door with foresight,
In dread that a blizzard would strike overnight.

The daughters were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of gnocchi break-danced in their heads.
With mamma in Brantford, and I back at home,
I'd just settled my brain I'd be shovelin' alone.

When out on the road there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a nutter,
Tore open the curtains and threw up the shutter.

The dawn on the breast of the 2-foot-deep snow
Gave an ominous pallor to the landscape below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a great big-ass snow plow, that was coming quite near.

With a cold, callous driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be a dick.
More rapid than eagles his giant truck came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called me by name!

"Now, David! You loser," he taunted with glee,
"You think you're so fit! Though you're past 53!
To the end of the driveway, and the top of your height,
I'll dump you a snowbank" he promised with spite.

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up 13-feet the street-ice was piled,
By the driver now grinning a pitiless smile.

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
Grumbling in anger, at the unthinking jerk.
And proceeded to shovel for hours on end,
While bending my back in ways it don't bend.

'Til at last I was done, as my daughters awoke.
And they scowled as I told them 'bout the snow-plowing bloke.
And how I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Enjoy Christmas for now, 'cause I'll be back 'round tonight!"

A Compilation of Cute and Innocent Childhood Mis-beliefs

Let me start by answering what some of you asked me..."What prompted you to ask us on Facebook to contribute our 'cute and innocent childhood mis-beliefs'?"

My middle daughter and I were in Niagara-on-the-Lake last weekend when I mentioned to her that her older sister and I had intentionally planted a mis-belief with her when she was about 10. We thought it would be funny to tell her that "hake" is the food word for human flesh (like "pork" is the food word for pig). The idea was that years later, she'd be out on a date and see hake on the menu and casually mention this to whomever she was with (ideally, some guy I already didn't like who was on a first date with her, who would think she was an idiot and/or a liar and never see her again).

Funny thing is that when I mentioned this to her last weekend, she was surprised to learn that this wasn't true (or she was pulling my leg, which is likely).

That got us talking about these misbeliefs and how some of them carry into adulthood until you embarrassingly discover that you've been wrong all your life. So I thought I'd ask my Facebook friends for their examples.

Before I get to what you sent me, if you think it's mean that I planted the hake misbelief on purpose with my (then) little one, you'll probably think it's horrible that I always wanted to plant a much worse one: Like teeth, you also get "adult eyes" when you grow up and that you know they're coming in and will shortly push out your "baby eyes" when you get a headache. It's probably for the best that I never did tell the girls that. My middle daughter in particular, who used to yank out her teeth once she found out the Tooth Fairy paid you for them, might have tried to cash in.

So on with your contributions, anonymized and organized, answering the question... 

What's your cute and innocent childhood mis-belief?

**Spoiler Alert - you may still believe some of these things**

Food

My brothers told me that if you eat the bologna straight from the package, you'll get cancer. Putting the bologna between two slices of bread was fine. Looking back, I'm not sure which to disbelieve.

Chewing gum grows in your tummy! 

I thought we had a fire burning in our stomach like a furnace and every time you eat it was fuel for the fire. 

Technology

I thought there were people inside the TV set. 

I used to believe there was a time with no colour! Was sure everything in the "old days" was only in black and white (like old movies) and that colour must've been invented later on. 

I thought that Bill Gates invented literal windows. 

Sports

Hockey sweater numbers. The lower the number, the better the player. 

I was very disillusioned when I realized that professional hockey players were in it for the money.

Health

Early in our marriage, after suffering thru many instances of accidentally coming into contact with my icy toes, my husband asked ‘why don’t you wear socks to bed, since your toes get so cold?!’ I replied ‘you’re not supposed to cover your feet at night, so your toes can breathe.’ 

Don’t go out with wet hair - you will catch a cold. (This one is from my wife -- and I'm not sure if she was messing with me when she submitted it. I.e. I don't know that she doesn't believe it, and I don't even know that it's not true.)

If you stepped on a sidewalk crack you would break your mother’s back. (I still have a slight phobia of cracks in concrete). 

When I heard my grandmother had a stroke I thought my brother hit her with a hockey stick. 

I was just uncertain enough about whether putting hand lotion on your face would make you grow little hands there, to prevent me from trying it.

I used to think that even glancing at the sun would make you go blind. 

Sexuality

I knew sperm swam from the penis into the vagina to make babies. I also knew from home and television that married couples slept in one bed. I knew sperm looked cute like fish. I thought couples would watch sperm swim across the bed sheets from the father to the mother.

I was told by my older sibling, who believed this too, that girls had periods and boys had ejaculations. 

I believe that the song afternoon delight was about ice cream. (If you're wondering why this is categorized under "sexuality", you just discovered another childhood mis-belief!)

Around the House

I was convinced the noises I heard at night were UFOs.

I used to think that plants pee right after you water them.  

Geography

I thought when my grandmother went to Florida, she went to HerAmi. And when I was corrected, I was utterly confused - "Why would she go to YourAmi?" (the person who was speaking), "Didn't she have one of her own? And how does one get to one's Ami in Florida, anyway??" because it had a beach and seashells so it must be awesome.

And... a Few of David's Childhood Mis-Beliefs

I used to think that "Seasons in the Sun" was actually written by a death-row inmate. I'm pretty sure one of my sisters told me that.

I was led to believe by my mom that ice cream was a healthy alternative to cake for dessert. This belief persisted until I was married. Now my wife has taught me that dessert doesn't require healthy alternatives.

I was led to believe by my mom that patterned polyester was a stylish alternative to denim. My sisters disabused me of this notion when I was still wearing polyester as a teen.