“Butter Comes From Butterflies”

Posted on June 20, 2008

Ok, I LOVE finding new websites.  You know the book Needful Things, by Stephen King?  Where people stumble into this little curiousity shop, filled with the exact kinds of curiosities they, themselves had always been intrigued by, in the back of their minds?  (Yes, I know, forget that part about the store owner being the devil, I’m trying to be whimsical, here.) 

Well, that’s what stumbling on a new site is like, for me. And I just found iusedtobelieve.com. .  According to the site description (which I won’t try to top), IUsedToBelieve is “a funny and bizarre collection of ideas that adults thought were true when they were children. It will remind you what it was like to be a child, fascinated and horrified by the world in equal parts. The following pages will reassure you that the things you used to believe weren’t so strange after all…”

And to top it all off, the site owners have now done a book . It’s a compendium of the all-time greatest childhood beliefs.

If you’ve read Trespassers, then you already know many of my oh-so-embarassing childhood beliefs. You would think the child of a preacher would have fewer unusual beliefs than your typical kid. They’ve got someone right in their home to explain all-things-theological to them, right? 

Well…remember, it was only on rare circumstances that I acknowledged the fact that my parents were more knowledgable than I was.  I took it upon myself to find out the answers, much of the time.  If I formed a belief or opinion, and didn’t have anyone or anything to back it up, I just figured Jesus must have told me.  And that’s what I told people. 

Readers, do you have any childhood beliefs you can recall?  Feel free to share in the comment thread.     

 

Comments

One Response to ““Butter Comes From Butterflies””

  1. Christopher Kimberley on June 21st, 2008 8:22 am

    I believed that if I went to the back of my wardrobe I might find Narnia. This was not the cumbersome, elaborate piece of furniture where furcoats were hung as described by C.S. Lewis. Neither did it smell of mothballs.

    My wardrobe was an elegant piece of early nineteen-sixties design with oak panels and sliding doors and only standing some five feet or so tall. As I child I would sit in the bottom of the hanging space of the wardrobe and slide the door closed behind me. I would lean back and hope that the rear panel would no longer be there. I fervently wanted to discover a wonderous space away from school and mundane existance.

    For those of you who believe that mothballs are part of anatomy of the male moth; they are small camphor balls that are intended to repel these voracious creatures.

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