When I was little I used to secretly believe that the hills around my home (in California) were actually giants that had fallen asleep thousands of years ago, and had slowly been covered with dirt and trees before normal-sized humans had settled the area. I never told anyone this believe because I knew they'd think it was silly, but I figured when the giants awoke, I'd be prepared to befriend them and save humanity!

I also believed that if I saw a cloud in the shape of any given animal, one of that kind of animal had died that day. For some reason cloud shapes always looked like alligators to me, and I worried about their population numbers.

Clearly I had an active imagination.

I've lived in Pittsburgh my entire life. In case you don't know, Pittsburgh has a ton of bridges (since we have three rivers). At a young age, this constant bridge-crossing led me to believe that every state in the USA was its own island. Every time we crossed a bridge I'd ask what state we were in and became very confused when the answer was Pennsylvania.

Post Image: Tim Engleman

When my (now) husband and I were dating, he had me convinced that if wood peckers didn't peck on the trees the sap inside the trees would build up pressure and the trees would explode. And I believed him!!

Until earlier this year (I'm 27), I thought lightning and thunder were two completely different things. I thought lightning didn't have a sound and thunder was invisible.

From the anonymous bin:

When I was four, I used to think that I was the only one who could see rain.

Derick from Duluth looks to the sky and finds some stupid:

Who didn't believe that clouds have a pillowy texture and consistency when they were little? The real question though: How do planes fly through them? The only logical conclusion is that only propeller planes can fly through clouds and that is why they have the propellers attached to their wings. I was convinced that they cut through the clouds as they go and make paths for other planes that are not fortunate enough to have cutting devices mounted on them. Now if only I could get one to drop me off up there so I could hang out in the sky for a while.

Mel shares this shocking tale:

I was a very paranoid child; I was afraid of everything. One of these things was lightning. I had a lot of delusions regarding lightning. I distinctly remember walking through the grocery store parking lot with my family, and it was lightning a lot, so I grabbed my dad's hand—probably assuming that he would save me from being struck. I then heard another adult member with us laugh and say "She's holding your hand so that if she goes down, you'll go down, too!" I had no idea what this meant. I also had a little wall alcove of about three feet in my bedroom, in which I insisted my bed be. My parents probably thought this was a perfectly good place for a bed. What they didn't know is that my only reason was because it would protect MOST of me (my head, at least..) should lightning decide to strike through my windows—its only obvious entry into my bedroom.

Stupid beliefs often bring great comfort & reassurance! What's that they say, ignorance is bliss?

Seth shares this tale of his conversion to the ways of science:

As a youngster I was obsessed with knowing the world around me. During one of our family's many trips to the cabin, I remember asking a particularly large amount of questions. The one that stands out was about the approaching nightfall....I'm sure that after 200 questions my mother was particularly fed up with my pestering. When I asked what makes the night come, she responded...”Clouds! Every night clouds bring the darkness!” It wasn't until years later that I blurted it out in school, and was promptly told what a moron I was. It was that event that sparked my dedication to science!

Mel writes in:

I don't remember how old I was, probably about 6 or 7, but I had received a balloon and was very excited about it. Unfortunately, I didn't quite grasp the idea of helium (except "don't let go"). When we got home and I stepped out of the car, the balloon slipped from hand. As it floated slowly up into the sky I started crying and yelling at my dad to "get a ladder and get it!!" I didn't understand why they were laughing at my pain...and I still blame my dad for not trying.