"You killed a horse when you were 3."
No shit. They let that one roll for a year or two. I brought up how my dad used to shoot his .22 pistol at cans in the backyard (we lived way out in the boonies), and occasionally he'd let me shoot it kinda. He'd kneel down behind me and basically just clamp my little three-year-old hands onto the gun and let me pull the trigger. When I casually mentioned this to my mother, she said, "Yeah, but that didn't last long." I pressed for more information, and she said, "You accidentally shot a horse that the lady who we rented from had on the property, so we never let you shoot anymore."
Needless to say I was stunned, and kept scouring my brain trying to remember it. I remember so much from when I was three, but it's entirely possible that I repressed that memory, so I kept trying to find it. Two years later, when I brought it up to my dad, he looked confused and said he didn't remember it. I scratched my head, wondering how he couldn't remember me killing a horse, which is a major event. So I went back to talk to my mother, and she was confused also. I explained what she had told me two years ago, and she
laughed and said she must have been kidding me.
Kidding me!
The emotional scar brought on by thinking I killed a horse was replaced by a new distrust in anything my parents tell me. Thanks a lot, parents.
