I had to scroll back up and make sure this wasn’t Autolycus’s story.
LOL! You’ve got the right end of the stick, there.
Another interesting quirk, Father Jim collected Buddha statues. At one point he was called on the carpet re: his vow of poverty, because the insurance guy had valued his collection in the high five figures.
If they’d only known!
I recently found out from one of my cousins that my father tried out for the Oak Ridge Boys back when they started touring. He made it in too, only problem was he was 17…his mama wouldn’t let him go out on tour. Can you imagine? I think it really cut him, he never ever said anything about it until I asked a few months ago. He is truly a gifted musician and singer too.
My mother, in a drunken stupor, told me when I was 6 that I once met Mrs. Wrigley (of the Wrigley gum company and Cubs fame) in Florida and she adored me so much that when she died she was going to leave me all of her inheritance.
Still waiting for that payday. 
I was about 20, and my grandmother (“Nana”) was around 80. It was her first night visiting for Christmas, and we’d all been drinking and talking for hours. Nana was pretty sloshed when she suddenly asked me, “what’s wrong with an old lady saying ‘fuck’?”
Me: “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Nana: “I can say whatever I want. Fuck.”
Me: “Yep.”
Nana, starting me straight in the eyes: “Fuck you.”
Me: “Fuck you too, Nana.”
And we gave each other a big hug.
The next day, upon hearing about this, she was horrified. I thought it was a riot!
My dad insisted that he enjoyed Milk-Bone dog biscuits for the same reason dogs eat them–to clean the teeth. So I started eating them, too. And I’d trot this bit out at slumber parties, chomping down on dog biscuits, impressing my friends.
One day I mentioned to him that absolutely no one else had ever heard of this fact, and that I was spreading the dog biscuit gospel. He recoiled in disgust.
“What the hell is wrong with you? I was joking! Nobody eats goddamn dog biscuits!”
So, what do they taste like? Do they, indeed, clean teeth?
George Carlin had a routine about how “fuck you” is really a nice thing to say:
"Hi, Ma… Yeah, fuck you, too!’
OK, this is more “lies you older siblings told you” or “stupid things your big brother tricked you into doing” but what the hell.
When I was in kindergarten, my brother told me that “poofter” was a phrase you used when you were doing something exciting and you were really happy. Like “Woo Hoo!”. As you probably know, it actually refers to a male homosexual. Anyway, being four years old I totally believed him and being four I had a lot of exciting opportunities to use my new word:
Swinging high on the swings, “POOFTER!”
Jumping off a log, “POOFTER”
Colouring in really nicely, “POOFTER!”
Getting a sticker for good work “POOFTER!”
I don’t remember, but I presume some adult finally put a stop to it. Around the same time, my brother was also kind enough to inform me that mum didn’t realize she was pregnant with me. One day she thought she had an upset stomach, so she went to take a crap and I fell into the toilet.
I can’t remember what brought this up - it may have had something to do with my dislike of wearing a bra - but my Grandmother solemnly warned me against going braless when I was a kid.
“European women don’t wear bras. They use string. It doesn’t work. You don’t want to be like one of them European women with titties down to your knees, do you?”
It didn’t make me any more eager to wear a bra, but I spent years trying to figure out exactly how you could configure string into a foundation garment.
<Off Topic>While I know a little bit about art, I didn’t know who Bill Wegman was when he joined the ice hockey team I was captaining. He used to bring his Weimeraners to the rink on occasion - ultra-cool dogs. Anyway, he was close to double the age of the next-oldest person on my team…but was our leading scorer that year! He was an super cool guy. </OT>
When I was three, we lived across the street from my mom’s sister, my Aunt Ethel, and my Uncle John. It was not uncommon for me to be over there; after all, they had a playhouse in the backyard (a remnant of the previous owner), although they didn’t have any kids of their own, and I was a welcome guest whenever I ventured over.
I can remember being over one hot day, when Uncle John decided to change his shirt. With his back to me, he pulled his tee-shirt off, and I noticed that his back was covered in scratches on either side of his spine.
I asked him what happened to him, and his reply was, “I got scratched by a cat.”
It took about fifteen years before I finally realized what the situation was, and I was amused, to say the least. Although my Aunt was by that time deceased, I don’t think I ever thought of her in the same way again.
The only thing that pops into mind was recently having it confirmed that my aunt, at the ripe old age of 60+, was indeed a virgin.
I don’t remember what we were talking about, but it was relationships and such, and she came out with, in Hindi,
“You don’t think I wanted to do the sex thing? Of course I wanted to do the sex thing! I wanted a man to do the sex thing to me!”
Uh, yeah. Sure, Massi - I’m sorry you didn’t get the opportunity, but man, that’s partly your choice. You’ve been in this country since the eighties!
Actually that brings to mind another one, too. My dad was over recently. He has turned into the stereotypical old man, with long-winded, horrible boring stories. In the middle of these stories, he touched on health, and then he started telling how in the last years of her life, Mom got enemas. Gak! And then he told about how they were “all-natural Hindu enemas.” Full body shudder. I have no idea what the fuck that means and I didn’t choose to ask. I was more like WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS?
Well see, that’s why it didn’t work. Gramma was right!
Don’t be offended, but for some reason, I immediately thought of it having something to do with curry and a funnel…
On the contrary, I think your Grandma just gave me an ahah moment: the realization of the meaning of “pissed off”.
When my niece was 3 she picked up the phrase “figment of my imagination” only she would say,
“Oh, that must be a figgle of my magic nation!”
I was thinking ghee.
Aaaaaaa! Fuck you both! Right in the ear!
Now see, if you were a relative, that would be a perfect response to the OP.