When i was a kid, I had these naïve kindergarten teachers somewhere in small town USA.

They told my whole class on our first day to stay away from this bridge that was off near the far end of the playground. It was old and worn, and crossed a small canyon and a creek. They told us to stay away from it, not because the bridge was dangerous, old, and worn, but instead, because there were trolls living under it.

They told us this whole elaborate story about how the trolls got there, and that they were really mean, and blah blah blah, then they sent us out on recess to go play. I was sold at “trolls living under it”. I still don’t remember much else said by anyone after that part.

I immediately and very quietly assembled a team of volunteers, which didn’t take much convincing. My brand new friends and I armed ourselves with suitable-looking sticks to go and verify these claims, naturally. We introduced ourselves, and discussed our proposed tactics and plans along the way.

Two of the teachers caught up with us right as i was leading my courageous and highly motivated troll hunting party under the bridge, and essentially directly onto the tops of fairly steep cliffs, fearlessly and with vigor.

One of the teachers snatched me by my shirt collar before I could get too far under, and yanked me back up the hill, as she claims, to ‘save me from certain death’. What a drama queen. I had sure footing, a very good stick, and had seen Willow like a hundred times, at least - I was fine!

I think many people learned quite a few valuable lessons that day, or, at least, I heard some adults saying that. All I learned, however, was that my teachers were some damn liars, and there were no trolls under that stupid old bridge.