I don’t recall exactly how old I was, but definitely single digits. My parents borrowed a friend’s station wagon and drove us for two hours out to some farm because they had bought a cow.
Imagine my disappointment when all we took home was a bunch of meat.
It wasn’t all that long ago - maybe 10 years or so - that a co-worker returned from a visit down south and relayed how shocked she was to learn that there was still segregation happening. She had seen a sign near the entrance to a bar that said “no colors”.
In preschool one of my teachers was named Mrs. White. Mrs. White had white hair, so I assumed her name was a description of her hair color.
The old commercials for Dow Bathroom Cleaner showed a bunch of anthropomorphic cartoon bubbles emerging from the bottle and cleaning a bathroom. I believed that is what would literally happen if we bought the product, so I begged my mom to buy some. I was extremely disappointed.
And, relatedly, when I was younger, in Wisconsin, I used to see signs at the bars that said “No Club Colors,” which was specifically referring to motorcycle jackets or other gear that signified membership in a motorcycle club (some of which apparently had a bad reputation for fighting).
I never said otherwise. But, my understanding was that there was enough of a history of members of some of those clubs getting into fights with each other at local bars, that many bars in Green Bay started putting up those sighs.