What things did your parents tell you as a kid that you later learned was a lie?
Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy
I learned that my pet dead cat was thrown in a dumpster and not buried on a farm
Onions do not make hair grow on your chest
Despite all the crappy stuff my parents put me through, I cannot think of one single time when they purposely lied to me. Wow, I’ve never thought about that until now.
Me (age 7): Mom/Dad, is that a TORNADO I see out our back window?
Parents: Of course not, dear.
(I learned years later that it was, in fact, a tornado. Big mother, too.)
Me (age 8): Where are my kitty cats?
Parents: They must have run off, dear.
(My mom later told me they were hit by a car… sob.)
I had numerous dogs that “ran away” when, it turns out, the side gate had been left open. And the side gate had two latches on it, so it’s not like it was an accident. Strangely enough, they were the dogs my mom didn’t like. The ones she did like didn’t “run away”.
Let’s not forget dear ol dad telling the boys if you masterbate hair will grow in your hands!
Oh man, I can’t wait for the ridicule I’ll get for this one. My family tortures me with it every chance they get.
See, when I was a kid, I was very picky about what I would eat. No onions in anything, maybe two veggies were acceptable, nothing that looked suspicious on the plate. And the ONLY gravy that I would accept on potatoes was beef gravy. My mother would fry up some chicken and serve me…beef gravy. Roast a turkey and serve me…beef gravy. Hell, I didn’t know you can’t get beef gravy from a turkey or a chicken. Never made the connection. She would tell me pork chops were beef and I’d believe it; I mean, she was my mother, for cripes sake.
The thundering revelation that I had been lied to came one evening when she pushed the limits of even childhood trust and naivete. Served up on my plate were deep fried oysters (which, in my opinion, are members of the mucous family). I asked the inevitable question as to its identity and my mother dutifully replied that it was beef and to eat up. I took one bite, gagged, and realized in horror that I had been duped for all those years. I haven’t eaten oysters since, but have luckily progressed to a more varied diet.
The other incident was when my parents bought me a boxer puppy. As the dog grew older, it became apparent that he was somewhat psychotic, loving my father, tolerating the family, and hating everyone else with a deep and abiding loathing. After biting the landlord, it was decided to send the dog to obedience training. A couple of weeks later, I was told that the dog had gotten sick and died. I wasn’t all that torn up, since the dog had little use for me. Turns out, the animal was incorrigible and untrainable (at least by that trainer), so they had the dog put to sleep and didn’t want to tell me they had committed dogicide.
Can I trade any of you for some overly psychotic parents?
My father concocted an elaborate tale (complete with psychic phenomena) of how demons would come and kill the people I cared about unless I was cooperative when he came to molest me.
He also explained he had special friends who cased our house at all times so any misdeeds would always be seen.
He told me too that ‘men don’t read.’
I was also told that they (my parents) owned me and could do anything they wanted to/with me until the day I got married.
Tanookie, I am very sorry to hear that. Were you ever able to get back at him/them for putting you through that?
Another “Where’s the dog, mum?” story here. As a kid, we lived in a little rural town and part of our household was a big, fat, slobbering golden lab aptly named Bimbo. Bimbo had the run of the town, everybody knew him and learned to drive around him on the roads (the damage to their cars from bumping Bimbo was worse than the damage to Bimbo!!)
When I was 11, we decided to relocate to the city. Not trusting Bimbo to learn some basic road-rules, and not trusting the urban drivers to be quite so accomodating, my mum told me that Bimbo could not accompany us on our move. So she proceeded to find a home for him…on a farm, with a family, and lots of crows to chase (not that he could chase them because he was too fat, but anyway…) She found an adoptive family, and I was somewhat placated.
We moved, and a few months later I overheard mum on the phone telling my uncle what had REALLY happened to Bimbo. She had him put-down (which in retrospect was perfectly understandable because he was already 12 years old, and it would have been impossible to find a home for him). It took me two years to forgive her back then though.
I don’t remeber how the beans got spilled. but when my sister was seven and I was five, we learned that our parents had “misrepresented” their ages to us by 10 years. We had a serious little kid discussion and eventually decided that it would be safest to confront our mother.
We did, and she copped to it immediately, explaining that the falsified ages were, they felt, important to getting their relatively young academic careers off the ground. Later, I decided that was at best foolish, because so many other people took off for a few years for WWII.
I hate to say it, but I don’t think I ever took what they said wholly at face value after that. The catcher in the rye missed me that day.
What surprises me more is when they did tell the truth.
If I swallow a watermellon seed, a watermellon will grow from my belly button.
When my mom was on her way to the market, she found a little girl laying next to the rock the girl popped out of. That’s how I joined the family.
If I get a “B” I will be disowned.
Similar to Chefguy’s story, my family had a dog, named Chrissy, who became violent. Eventually it bit my babysitter and that was the last straw. My parents told me they had given it to someone in the country, out on a farm, without children, because Chrissy would be happier out there. Needless to say, this was an inaccurate portrayal of events. Chrissy was actually in doggy heaven. 
My parents told me that the light switch in the garage did nothing, when I asked them about it.
Then, when the people in the apartment above us called to ask why their heat wasn’t working, I get yelled at for flipping the switch.
I’m still bitter.
My mother once had our dog put down without telling me. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I came home from school one day and she was gone. She initially lied and told me she had given her to people on a farm (see a trend, anyone?) but after a few days admitted the truth. (Because I kept pestering her about it–can we visit her? Where is the farm? How did you know these people?) Boy, was I upset. (The dog was turning mean, and she bit me shortly before being put down.)
My mother lied and told me if I put a hot frying pan directly into water, it would cause a fire or explosion of water, I don’t remember which anymore. She also told me if I accidentally left a light switch halfway between on and off, it would shoot out sparks and cause a fire.
My parents also kept up the Santa Claus, Tooth Fairy, et al. charade, but that’s understandable.
When I was four, my mother told me a stork brought me. Shortly thereafter, I discovered differently at a friend’s house (because she owned the “Where Did I Come From?” book) and I was angry my mother had made up a silly story instead of being honest.
My mother always promised me an overseas trip my entire childhood. It was always “next summer” that we could go. It never happened. I spent many years believing I would get to go “next summer”. I was excited. I wish she had just told me no, there isn’t money for that.
There’s plenty more, but nothing remarkable, really.
Maybe this hits home for a reason, eh?
For the record, none of my “disappeared” dogs were biters. They tended to be “too big” or “too energetic”. Which meant any dog above ankle height, for some reason. And we had a fairly huge backyard, indeed, I don’t think I’ve seen a bigger one in any of the houses I’ve lived in since. You could’ve easily fit another house in it. And what bothers me, come to think of it, is just leaving the side yard open, instead of taking them to a shelter or anything.
What else? Ahh, yes! “We won’t be moving anytime soon.” And then one weekend (I was about, oh, 11 or 12), I come home and find most of my stuff in boxes and get tersely told, “Get anything you absolutely have to have, the rest is going in boxes.” Where it sat for three years til she found the Absolute Perfect House–basically, got tired of looking.
- Eating XYZ will make you stronger/smarter/taller
- Telling me I was bought in the supermarket. I’m really going to get them back for that one…
- Getting under the flimsy, ricketty table is a good way to be safe in an earthquake. Fortunately, this theory wasn’t tested.
- Go on, it won’t bite/burn/cut/scratch (in this case, insect/curry/knife/cat, although I freely admit I was holding the knife badly)
It can if you try to put water on a oil fire, since the steam would eject the water. Not fire, except from the burning oil being ejected with the water/steam.
Kinda true. In my old home I used to amuse myself be making it dark and turning the light switch half on so that the light from the arcing current would be visable. Not exactly “shooting out sparks” though. And yes, it was boring living in a small town.
I’m grateful my parents perpetuated the Santa Claus and Tooth Fairy myths. I’m glad they were willing to help add a little magic to my life (although my mother’s attitude towards the Easter Bunny was, “You have the Lord Jesus Christ as your Risen Savior; you don’t need a bunny.”).
My mother used to tell me that if I ate raw potatoes, I’d get worms and that eating too much salt makes you bald (when I challenged that one, she’d say, “Just look at your father.”), but I don’t consider those lies, since she was only repeating what her own parents had told her. I suspect she still believes these things.
We lived in Indonesia when I was very small, during the time of the civil war there. One day soldiers came and dug a large, deep pit in front of our house, and my dad told me it was a “foxhole.” Much later, long after I was an adult, I was present when he was telling someone else about that time, and he said soldiers came and dug a pit next to all the foreigners’ houses so they would have graves handy when the time came. To this day, I don’t know which of those versions is true, if either one is.
When she told us that they were divorcing, mother implied to my brother and me that she and my dad just weren’t compatible. I didn’t find out about his affairs and other execrable behavior until I was in my 30s, and then only from other sources. I think my mom deserves a medal for that “lie.”
The only one that I’m mad at my father about was an omission rather than an out-and-out lie. He had a daughter eight years younger than me (not surprisingly, born less than a year after his divorce) and he never told me or any of his other children about her. She contacted me when I was 31 years old, and I was completely blindsided. When I asked him about it, he said, “Oh, you didn’t know about that?” He apparently hadn’t even thought that I might like to know my own half-sister, and he was perfectly content leaving me in the dark forever.
You’d have to know my mom. She is the most sincere, genuine person on the face of the earth. Now, having said that, she told me
I believed that until I read snopes
Seems like it was something that gets passed down. But mom never lies. 
BTW, my mom was born in 1923. So it goes back a bit.
“If you aren’t Catholic, you are wrong.”
My parents are morons but i love 'em to death.