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More things than I can count! For instance, my dad had a '65 Chevy with a big gaping burn hole in the back seat from a poorly-aimed cigarette. I was not only afraid to sit where that burn hole was, I would scream in terror if forced to sit there. I assumed spiders would crawl out of that hole and all over me. When I was five or six, I believed all black people only lived to be 47, because my mother once told me that the singer on the cover of one her albums (Tommy Edwards) died at that age. He was black, and I'd never seen one older than 47 (I was living in a still-segregated Southern city at the time, so I'd hardly seen any black people) soooo.... From the ages of three to six, I feared if I got soap in my eyes, I'd be permanently blinded. I assumed all the blind people in the world had a similar soap mishap as kids.... My dad used to tell me that the black spots on Fritos came from the Frito factory workers' dirty fingernails. I couldn't eat Fritos for years after that. When I was maybe four, I hated the fact I was the only kid in the family with brown eyes. Picture this: I'm a half-Native American kid among my mother's critically Irish relatives, so let's just say I stood out. One day my mom found me with her blue eyeliner pencil, nearly poking my eyes out. I was trying to color them blue.
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