It’s amazing to think about all the lies we’re told as children, and it’s even more amazing how willingly and thoroughly we believe these lies. I don’t mean this in a cynical way; it’s just the way it is. My brother who I idolized for most of my childhood was notorious for feeding me lies for his own amusement, and I was notorious (still am actually) for believing him without a doubt. I was told that bees wouldn’t sting if your body temperature was lower than normal, a claim that caused me to stick my hand out of a car window in chilly October air for twenty minutes. I also have this lie to thank for a very embarrassing moment in my college biology study group. I bought more “magic quarters” than I can remember. These were worth a dollar or more, depending on the amount of magic they contained. I also believed Fun Dip was cocaine and that my brother was addicted to it for at least a week. He denies a lot of this, but I stand by it. Who remembers a crime better, the victim or t