When I first heard that my daughter’s new best friend was a psychic – or at least claimed to be – I wasn’t very happy.
After all, she had read my daughter’s palm on the playground and predicted that my daughter would have two children in her lifetime. Twins, she said.
Funny, I don’t recall signing a permission slip for this.
I told my daughter that I didn’t approve of these fourth-grade palm readings and I questioned the kid’s “psychic” abilities. I chalked it up to a child looking for some attention. My daughter dismissed my theory and with all the certainty in her whiny, little voice said, “But mom, she really IS a psychic!”
My daughter then "schooled" me on what was going down in the school yard. This kid was reading palms on the playground before school and during recess.
Where were the teachers! Well, considering their salaries they were probably in line hoping to get next week’s lottery numbers.
Still stewing over this, I decided to call psychic kid’s mother. I figured a mommy-to-mommy conversation was in order. Maybe she was unaware of her kid’s “gift” – real or otherwise.
I called psychic kid’s mom the following Sunday. Our conversation went something like this:
Me: Hi, this is Miss M. Our daughters are in the same class and…
Her: Oh my God, I’m so wasted right now…
“Chocolate wasted?” I thought to myself. It was quickly apparent that this was much worse than a chocolate overdose.
Psychic kid’s mom went on to tell me how I woke her up with my phone call. It was 3 p.m. What was I thinking!
She said she was probably suffering from a hangover (probably?) from partying the night before and how she had crawled home in the wee hours of the morning.
I hung up.
Fast forward a couple of months and psychic kid is spending the night at my house. It’s my daughter’s birthday weekend.
I didn’t know what to expect. Would her overnight bag include tarot cards and a crystal ball?
Nope. She was just like any other 10-year-old, but there was a slight difference. This kid had an edge to her. Something my 10-year-old didn’t have. At the time, I couldn’t figure out why, but it would soon be revealed.
At bedtime, I offered up the spare bedroom to a very sleepy, allegedly psychic kid, who could barely keep her eyes open.
As soon as I turned off the light and closed the door, she re-opened it.
“Um, Miss M, excuse me, but I’m afraid.”
Afraid of what, I ask.
“I’m afraid of the dark… and afraid of sleeping alone.”
For some reason, this confused me.
“I’m used to sleeping with a lot of people.”
This confused me even more.
It turns out psychic kid lives with her grandmother and her little brother… and her half-brothers…and half-sisters…and a cousin…maybe two. To be honest, I lost count.
She said most of the kids sleep in one bedroom. Some have to sleep in the living room.
As I hear more details of their living arrangements, there’s an unmistakable pain in my chest.
My mommy heart hurts…
As she rattled off the names and ages of each relative and details on how they all ended up with grandma, I realize we’ve only scratched the surface. There was more…much, much more. And it wasn’t pretty.
To be continued...