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That the toy monster steals their toys at night. Specifically the ones that aren't put away.
When I was little, I built a Lego remote control for the TV. My dad was like, hey, see if it will change the channel. I kept hitting it, nothing. All of a sudden, a few channels change and I'm screaming and jumping up and down. Then it stopped working. My dad goes "That was magic, awesome Lego remote!" Thanks, Dad.
My kids were getting the vaccinations and the whole trip there I told them that getting shots in the eyeballs was the most effective way. They were terrified! When we got to the doctor's office and the nurse came in with the needles, I said, "Isn't it true that getting your shots in the eyeball the most effective way to prevent future illnesses?"
She said she heard about a study they were conducting and didn't know the results. She then looked at my kids and asked if she could give them their shots in their arms instead... You never saw kids so happy and excited to roll up their sleeves in your life. All smiles and no tears.
As a child, my parents told me if I did something bad I was going to "baby jail". I believed in baby jail until I was like 12 years old. If I started crying in a public place my dad would say "Mary, stop that. You don't want to go to baby jail, do you?" And then I would just scream louder like "I don't want to go to baby jail!" I was kind of a well behaved kid until I realized baby jail wasn't real. Then I turned into a teenager and they told me that Juvenile Detention was a thing and I didn't believe them.
That, as their father, I could change their names whenever I wanted to.
One time I pretended to get on the phone with the "Arizona Name Registry", and renamed my two kids Snargle and Gorf because they kept misbehaving.
They were bawling. I could barely keep a straight face.
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The gun's not loaded, I promise.
Well, it's as "funny" as some of the other examples.
There was a boy in a prior parish whose name I kept getting wrong. Instead of calling him "Kyle," I'd call him "Caleb" (made up names); and he would get frustrated about it, and I'd apologize.
One time I told him, "You know, because I'm a priest, if I call you by the same wrong name three times, that becomes your name! So I hope I don't do it again, Caleb...
"OH NO! WHAT DID I JUST DO?!?
"Gee, I'm really sorry, buddy, I guess your name will be Caleb from now on."
He made a face and stamped his feet, then laughed.
I still can't remember his name (he's grown up now and I haven't seen him in years).
When I was really little my dad told me we were going to the nosepicking museum on vacation but not to tell mom because it was a surprise. Also claimed he could make the traffic lights change from red to green. I called him out on the traffic light thing (because he would always slow down approaching the light until it turned green) but was really disappointed when the nosepicking museum didn't pan out.
The number of lies I was told and believed is too long to list. Apparently it's a thing with Pennsylvania Dutch to get as much joy as possible faking out little kids and it completely handicapped my comprehension of the real material world. The litany rages from mundane to extraordinary lies.
For example, I was told that scallops are a chopped up eel, breaded and deep fried. And I held that belief for over two decades even though I lived in costal areas, East, West, South, and a foreign country. Until finally encountering a wall size poster of various seafood available in a seafood shop in Boston. I averred to the store owner with all the confidence of a twenty-something, "Your seafood poster is wrong."
"What's wrong with it?"
"It shows scallops as a kind of clam when it's really an eel that's chopped up."
"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA, you dope. They're shellfish. And don't argue with me, I know whereof I speak."
(Mother, it's moments like this, I hate your f'k'n guts. And I MEAN it!) *flounces off*
That's just one of a million. What am I, so cute and adorable I simply cannot be set straight? I promised myself when I'm grown and have kids of my own that I'll always explain things the right way. Like my dad did. Now there's a straight shooter. But not my mum's side. Her entire extended family are all mind-f'k'n dopes. For their own amusement.
Then one day the cutest most adorable towheaded child walked into my parents back patio door with his hand cupped holding something gently in his tiny hand-globe, too precious to set straight. He said to me, "Wanna see a cali-pitter?"
If I could just frame that adorable moment forever, I would. He'll get the pronunciation worked out on his own.
When a child has a somewhat secure base (at least one adult whom they can trust and count on to come through, listen, and meet their needs) they can accept and work through enormous amounts of fol-de-rol, teasing, and playful deceptions.
Learning to trust is one of the tasks of childhood. Modeling, revealing, and teaching children what discerning trust looks like (trusting another to the degree they've shown themselves to be trustworthy) is part of a parent/caregiver's job. Fooling, shutting down, and discounting reality through dishonest representations that affect how a child functions and addresses the larger world outside the family system does them no favors.
That said, MrM just laughed at all the stories I read him, above and in the post.
Snipes is good eats.
"Mommy and Daddy are just doing what the birds and bees do."
I never saw that crazy shit on Wild Kingdom.
I can't think of any lies, but my mother would sometimes exclaim "I've been misled!", pronouncing "misled" as MY-zuld. I thought "misle" was a common English word, meaning "fool" or "trick," until I was 12 or so.
The nun who taught First Communion class to us kept drilling home the point that the host is the body and blood of Jesus. She told a lie about a kid "In another parish" who did not believe. So, after Communion he clandestinely took the host out of his mouth, wrapped it in a tissue, and took it home. In the kitchen he cut open the host w/ a steak knife, and it started bleeding. The pastor was called to the house by his parents. By the time he got there, the kitchen floor was covered in blood. The pastor said the Bishop had to be called. The bishop got to the house, started mopping up the blood w/ a brand new mop and clean towels. He then squeezed as much blood he could into a chalice and drank it. The Good Lord gave me a critical brain and I knew it was a lie. Lot of kids bought it.
Luke, I am your father.
Oh, good one!
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