Some of them are so poetic I wish they were true.
“If you are very very quiet you can hear the clouds rub against the sky.”
“Sadness can be eaten.”
Some more “lies” and heartwarming stories from the comments in the Metafilter thread.
“Thunder was god bowling or moving furniture around.”
“There was a mouse that lived in my grandfathers nose. That’s why it squeaked.”
“When I was four or five, I asked my dad why birds sitting on electrical wires didn’t get electrocuted. He told me it was because they wore tiny, rubber-soled sneakers. To this day, I picture pigeons in teeny tiny Chucks.”
“When my niece was little, I convinced her that I had magic bandaids and a pen with magic medicine in it. It was just a silver metallic pen, but when she would do something to hurt herself, I’d get out a magic bandaid and carefully draw a smiley face or a heart on the top with the magic pen as she watched. Then I’d put the bandaid wherever she hurt and instantly her pain and tears were all gone.”
“In high school, I convinced my friend Heather (affectionately nicknamed “Airhead” by her friends) that there were three kinds of potatoes: the ones that grow in the ground (generally used for baked potatoes); the ones that grow on a bush (those are better for fries) and… wait for it… the tater tot tree. That she clearly bought it for a while was a giant source of astonishment to me.”
“When I was four, I was an extremely ticklish child. I started school and all the kids would tickle me senseless, to the point of wetting my pants a few times. So I came home from school really upset and told my dad about it. He slapped his forehead and said, “Damn! I forgot to turn your tickle button off! I meant to do that before you started school.” He quickly reached around the back of my head and gently pressed a spot at the base of my skull and made a “Donk” noise. He then told me that every body comes with a tickle button and only Daddies can turn them off and I’d never be ticklish anymore unless I wanted to be. The next day, despite many attempts, I was not ticklish and could not be tickled.”
“My uncle used to stick feathers, quill tip down, into the ground and tell me that’s how birds were made. So I planted hundreds of them and the skies seemed filled with my creations that summer.”
