Boy did I hate my parents for one long day when I was five. All the kids at kindergarten were talking about who the first people on Earth were. “Idiots,” I thought. I already knew the answer to that question because I asked my parents when I was like, three.
“No one knows,” I said.
“Yeah they do. Adam and Eve,” the kids said.
“No, my parents said no one knows.”
But the kids were so insistent. And they all knew.
I thought they must be right because all the girls also knew who New Kids on the Block were, and had lunch boxes featuring these mysterious “kids.”
Then I got the burning feeling in my cheeks. I was so embarrassed. I’d claimed to know something, but everyone else knew I was stupid and didn’t actually know. I was an idiot with a Disney lunch box.
All day I said I hated my mom and dad for lying to me. I couldn’t understand why they’d lie to me just to make me look stupid. I mean, they were adults so they obviously knew the answer (because adults know everything, right?). Since they obviously knew the answer, that left only one conclusion: they lied to me to make me look stupid.
For some reason I remember only feeling angry and not the actual confrontation, but apparently I went home and kept asking them over and over to see if they’d tell me the right answer. Eventually I ended up believing them until I was 7 when I had a religious friend and decided to be “religious” for a few months. That’s a story for another day.