When I was like 4, I had a pretty rational view on stuffed animals, they were cute and that was about it. Well my step-dad had this long talk with me, utterly convincing me that the whole premise of Toy Story applied to my toys as well (they come alive when i'm not looking, etc etc). Because of this, I got bat shit insane about taking care of them. Every time I dropped one I had to bandage it up and put it on bedrest, I used to get really angry yelling "I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE WHY WON'T YOU JUST TALK TO ME!" This went on until I was about 8 or 9.
Sidenote: I was also told by my step-dad that if I didn't eat the food he packed in my lunch, assassins that he had hired would tell him and ultimately kill me. That was about age 6 - 10.