“I Didn’t Even Know What Dessert Was”: 30 Experiences People Were Raised To Think Were Common

Every year, a few days before Easter, my dad would sit us down as a family to brainstorm how we would catch the Easter Bunny.

Night before Easter, he'd help us set the agreed-upon trap. When we went to bed, he'd spring the trap, nibble on the carrot (our bait), then leave a note for us from the "Easter Bunny" - either complimenting us on how clever our idea was, or saying how hard he had to work to escape it. How he wished he could stick around, but he had to go deliver candy to other kids. Signed "E.B."

One year, he went so far as to put a white rag under the trap, with fishing line tied to it... and when he knew we were watching, he signaled my uncle (holding the other end of the line, out of our sight) to sprint away and haul in the line - so all we saw was a white dash fly out from the trap and around the corner of the house.

When I got old enough to realize the EB wasn't real, I helped him run the ruse on my brother and sister.

Didn't realize until years later that other families don't set fancy traps on Easter. I've just got a super cool dad.

Cutting against the grain of this thread: hanging out with your parents a lot.

My dad always made a point of spending time with us as kids, but after we became self-sufficient, we found ourselves just kinda getting along as friends. We never did any sort of rebellious stuff because of that. My dad even got into video games after a while, so we'd play co-op together when he got off work. My friends now hang out with my parents without me, and we invite them to come out with us when we do social things.

I think the key was that they spent time with us, and only used authority to make us do things as a last resort (which admittedly won't work with everyone - but we were analytical and would go along with a soundly-worded argument).

I was raised being told that because my parents gave me life, and provided me with food and shelter, that I owed them. I had to do a lot of chores, and my home life was strict. They picked my school classes, and would restrict me from seeing certain friends. If I didn't do a good job, I was considered disrespectful and rude for not being appreciative of all I had.

I recall one time when I was in my early teens, I had to shovel snow. This was in central Alberta, where the snow could get waist high on me. After a couple of days of snowing and me shoveling, my arms and back were really sore from moving all the snow. We had a major snow storm, and I was required to shovel it all. After almost three hours outside, I could barely move my arms and I was feeling sick and dizzy. I wasn't done though, so I was not allowed to come back into the house for dinner because people who don't do their chores don't get to eat.

I thought it was normal, and that other kids who weren't treated this way were spoiled and would grow up to be criminals. I sincerely believed I was lucky that my family loved me so much to be that strict so I could be ready for life.

After running away from home I was adopted into a new family. They all did chores together, because a family helps each other. I figured out at that point that my parents had been guilting me into being a slave.

I was raised to believe that I owed them for my life, but really they had to provide food, clothes, shelter, and everything because they are responsible for the children they brought into the world. I don't owe them anything for the basics.

**Edit:** geez, this took off. I just want to clarify, I am not against doing chores. Chores teach children how to become independent and care for themselves. Chores help keep a household functioning. Very important stuff. In my case, the punishment for not succeeding in chores was severe, even if I was trying. I would have to get up from bed with fevers to clean dishes from meals I never even ate. I am not against the idea of kids shoveling snow, but working your kid until their arms give out, and not even letting them take a break to eat a family meal, all because they owe you for cooking dinner? A little extreme. I felt so guilty, like I was the most selfish 14 year old ever because my arms and back had given out after weeks of snow removal. That isn't normal or ok.

My family are not comfortable around each other. Never any touching, kissing or cuddling. Any physical contact is forced and horribly awkward. No one also talks and any disagreements simmer for years with a grudging resentment.

When I first starting dating my now husband I was shocked his family would just sit close to each other, like their legs would touch on the couch. Like not overly touchy, just normal, but not normal to me. They also spoke to each other if they were upset. I was quite envious.

Not being self-conscious about your naked body inside the house. Taking a shower and mom wants to ask something? She has always been welcome to get in the bathroom and ask, even with a glass shower box. Same goes for the other way around. If you need privacy (for, em, *business*), you can lock the door.

It wasn't until I was a teen that it came up in conversations with my friends and they were disgusted I was seen naked by my mother somewhat frequently. That actually amused me - she changed my diapers for years and now we have to be embarrassed? Go figure ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

I went to a catholic school (UK). Everyone was Irish. When I got into the real world, I was shocked by the lack of Irish people.

My father used to leave for weeks at a time without telling anyone. Mom always told us they "he's taking a vacation, he's stressed", so me and my brothers grew up thinking it was a completely normal thing to do.

After I moved out, I had a pretty stressful period, so I just packed a backpack and went camping by myself, no phone, nothing to connect me to the outside world. I spent a week out of anyone's reach. Problem is, usually I'd call my mom every two days or so, except that one week.

When I came back, my mother visited me and broke out crying, begging me to never do that again. I didn't understand, so I asked her "why would you worry so much, father would do this all the time and not once were you that concerned".

As it turns out, my dad had attempted several times to [unalive] himself on those "vacations" (didn't go through because he didn't want to destroy our lives), and my mom was always wondering if he'd come back home or if she'd have to identify his body. They didn't want us, the kids, to find out how broken and dysfunctional our dad was, therefore making it seem normal to disappear every once in a while.

I was just talking about this with someone the other day, but when I was younger my dad suffered with heart problems. I believe he had three heart attacks. They all happened at night and I remember getting up in the morning and my parents gone with just my Grandma there. I asked where they were, she said the hospital, and I'd be like "Oh, okay" and never thought it was weird or scary, it just seemed normal and he'd be back later that day or the next. I also found out at some point that my dad's biological father died at 28 from a heart attack, and his father at 30.

That all happened before I was ten, but when I was ten he had a quadruple bypass surgery. Again, didn't really think it was weird or scary, didn't realize how serious it was. Honestly it wasn't until I was telling my friend all this the other day that I realized what a big deal it was.

My Dad's surgery went well and he is now in his 70s, works out daily, lost weight, and hasn't had heart problems since.

Complete silence on a road trip. No radio, no talking, nothing.

Always had a clean room. I told my mother that my best friend didn't have to clean his.

Turns out they were hoarders.

Not eating dessert. I didn't even know what dessert was until I was out at a restaurant with a friend from middle school and her parents.

Friend's parent: "What do you want for dessert?"
Me: "For...for what?"
Friend's parent: "Dessert! Don't you want some cake or a hot fudge sundae?"
Me: "Is it someone's birthday?"


It was thoroughly confusing. My family had breakfast, lunch (at school for the kids), and dinner. That was it. You had your food, that's it. Sometimes my parents would have coffee with breakfast, and that's as desserty as our meals ever got.

I am adopted. From a young age, my parents were extremely open with me about the fact that I am adopted. So open, in fact, that I just started assuming that all kids must be adopted. My parents would always tell me the story about the day that they picked me up from the group children's home I had been staying at and I was officially theirs. I assumed that's where all babies come from... that their parents just go to a hospital/ children's home/cradle and pick them up, and viola! You have a kid. I was in for such a shock when I was 6 and one of my best friend's moms got pregnant and my mom had to explain to me how some parents have their kids biologically.

Eating out all the time. I didn't know until years later that I was eating out more than the average child of a low-class family. Way more.

Not being allowed to take medicine that a doctor prescribed for you because it's "too strong". I've had chronic pains in my legs for My entire life. My grandparents would often take my prescriptions and give me benadryl or ibuprofen instead. My grandma claims that the doctors just couldn't figure out what was wrong (and to her credit there was one moron who claimed that my legs hurt because I was too fat for them), but it was really because I was never taking the medication they were actually giving me.

Also, if my brother or I got a really nice toy, my grandfather would take it to "prevent us from messing it up". We would have to come and ask him for permission to play with our own toys, and he would almost always say he "didn't feel like getting them out" like he was tired even though he did jack s**t all day.

Come to think of it, he also basically forced me to stop playing with toys by putting my toy box in the garage. I was 9 and I was absolutely still playing with everything in there. But he claimed that he was "helping me out" by "getting it out of the way". I honestly cried. But because he said he was trying to help, I got called spoiled, and then he kept putting off bringing it back in the house. Guess where it is right now? Still in the f*****g garage. I'm 21 and I'm still angry about it.

Edit: we had a house fire in 2018, and all my toys are fine. Less angry now.

For your parents to not have boundaries. At least, in the United States culture. My parents snooped through my things, constantly monitored me, and over-shared information about their marriage that I didn't need to know.

Every adult being sad. I assumed that was an inevitable part of getting older and that I would embrace it when the time came.

Mum always called those mini sausages ‘little boys’ so naturally that’s what we called them too. It wasn’t until I was in uni and we had a party with kids party food I got called out on it... Thanks mum

EDIT:
Wow thanks for all the reply’s! Mums Australian, however I’m a New Zealander so it totally explains the bad communication over here! Haha glad I wasn’t the only one embarrassed by ‘little boys’.

I thought being mortally terrified of physical harm from your father was just how fathers are... turns out mine's just... not so great.

My dad was a troll (lovable and kind, but still a troll) so I have a million like this.

The funniest/most embarrassing one is probably one that started 32 years ago and then came to a head 15 years ago. When my sister was born in 1986, they put a little bow on her head and took her hospital picture. I asked my dad how they kept the bow on her head when she didn't have any hair, and he said (completely dead-pan), "Oh, super glue." I was only 5, so I believed him.

Fast forward to 2003, and I had just had my first daughter. I was sitting in the hospital room and someone came in and said they were going to borrow my kid later to take her picture, and if I had anything special I wanted her to wear, I should put it on her beforehand.

I was immediately like, "Ok, sure, but I don't want you to put any super glue on her." The woman looked at me like I had lobsters crawling under my ears, which I interpreted as her being offended. So I started trying to make excuses, and for some reason it stressed me out so much that I lied and said, "I know that was common practice, but I read a research paper recently that said it wasn't good for her skin." She just sort of stared at me for a minute and excused herself.

A few minutes later my doctor was in the room asking me how much morphine I had been given that day. (I'd had a c-section.) The whole thing got more and more insane until it dawned on me that I was a f*****g idiot and my dad was an a*s. Lmfao.

My parents didn't divorce. All of my closest friends' parents got divorced.