On Easter Sunday, my relatives and I were sitting around the table, talking the afternoon away. I guess talk turned to the economic slowdown because one of my aunts told a story about the time her eldest daughter, now 17, wanted to go out to eat or wanted to buy something, but was told they couldn’t afford to spend the extra money at that time. Not understanding such a concept, she asked her mother why she didn’t just go visit one of those machines that spits out money? In her young mind, ATMs were the equivalent to money trees. 

My aunt also told the story about the time she and her two daughters waited at the airport to see my uncle off on a business trip so the girls could watch the plane take off. But that was a mistake because when the plane disappeared from sight, my younger cousin became hysterical, believing her father had evaporated into the sky. 

We all laughed at the stories and the girls had sheepish smiles on their faces. Later, I started thinking about all of the ridiculous childhood beliefs I once held. Like most children, I believed in Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, but I also had my own unique ideas about the world around me. 

Little people, living in some small crevice, were responsible for the music coming from the car radio. In my mind, male school bus drivers were always nasty and mean and I refused to get on the bus for the first day of kindergarten because there was a male driver behind the wheel. 

I ran and jumped into my bed at night because I thought there was a creature lurking below my mattress, waiting to grab a dangling leg. After watching “The Wizard of Oz” through my hands, I believed, for a long time, that the Wicked Witch of the West was flying outside of my bedroom window. Peeking out from under the covers, I would convince myself I could see the outline of her pointy face on the other side of my window. 

For years I believed my uncle rescued me from a swimming pool by scooping me up in one of those long-handled pool skimmers. But years later I learned he jumped into the pool and dragged me out. 

I thought if I ate an apple seed, an apple tree would grow in my stomach so I was careful not to eat them. I was also convinced there was a giant ball of old gum sitting inside of my stomach because I always swallowed my gum, despite the warnings not to. 

As I swatted at mosquitoes on sticky summer nights, I cursed Pandora because I believed she was responsible for releasing all of the irritating and disgusting insects into the world. 

Mosquitoes and spiders were always out to get me and if I found a bug anywhere in my bedroom, I had to wake up my parents – often in the middle of the night – and alert them to my dilemma. 

While I’m sure they enjoyed those precious moments, I think they might be happy I’ve since given up some of my old beliefs. 

                                     –Amanda Estes