A very common conversation in my household usually consisted of someone telling me that by doing something, I would attain a negative outcome. And than onto me telling them they were wrong, doing whatever it was and learning they were actually right.
A very distinct memory I still hold onto today occurred roughly 13 years ago. I was in the kitchen with my father who was making dinner. He had just bought new knives that I had never seen before. They had a deep red handle and the blade was a creamy white color. I asked him why he had bought plastic knives. He laughed and said they were normal knives. He told me they were extremely sharp and to be careful. I peered closer and examined the knife, certain it was made of plastic. Everyone knew sharp knives were shiny and metal. I touched the blade lightly and nothing happened. At this point I was one hundred percent certain my father was wrong. I knew that real knives could cut people. So I took this knife and put it up to my hand. I turned and looked at him dead in the eye as I announced that I was going to prove to him it was made of plastic. He just stared and so i went on to rub the blade against my palm hard. Blood started to appear and trickle down my hand. It dripped on the floor. I stood there stunned and embarrassed. He had been right.
With each experience, I gain more trust in what other people tell me. I learned things are not always as they appear, not to play with knives and that maybe my father has more wisdom than I had collected within my six years of life.
