“When I asked when, he said the night before – the same time I was having dinner with Debbie.”

About two years ago, Debbie, a new teller came on the job at my local bank.  I would see her often because she was always at the business window, and I would hand over the day’s deposits.

After a while we became friendly and I asked her out.  It was something I rarely did, ask someone for a date that, if it didn’t work out, I’d still be seeing due to business.  But she was so cute, I couldn’t resist.

At first the evening went well, but then her mood began to change, not in a bad way, but I could tell something was on her mind.

She began asking probing questions about my family, and I was starting to feel a little uneasy because she was getting a bit too personal.  When she realized I was starting to hold back, she told me she sensed something was amiss and she was trying to get to the bottom of it.

She started honing in on my sister, who at that time had just moved to Florida to live with her fiancé.  Debbie said she couldn’t put her finger on it, but she felt my sister’s presence.  I asked what that meant and she explained that sometimes she picks up on someone who could be far away, and in this case it was a person whom she had never met.

I didn’t think much of it that night, but the next day I received a call from my father explaining that my sister had been rushed to the hospital for an emergency appendectomy.  When I asked when, he said the night before – the same time I was having dinner with Debbie.

J. Malone
New Orleans, LA

“Dysfunctional Family Can’t Hold Her Back”

I was told it could not be done.

This is what my father told me time and time again, especially when I wanted to try something I had never done before.

You see, my father was not a daring man.  Well, that wasn’t the problem; the problem was he couldn’t bear to see me succeed.  Somehow my success would amplify his failure in life, and his purpose in life was to hold me back.

I was fifteen at the time and I wanted to try out for the cheerleading team.  He told me I was too heavy, he told me I was clumsy, he told me I wasn’t bright enough to learn the various steps, the complicated cheers.  And worst of all, he told me the other girls wouldn’t accept me because I wasn’t pretty enough.

What a father.

So, I tried out, anyway.  And to his utter dismay, I made it.  Well, kind of.  I was an alternative.  But, hey, when you come from a family like mine – a totally unsupportive, dysfunctional group – well, this was a grand success.

So, you might ask, how did I make it?  I’ll tell you.

I’ve always been the type of person who isn’t afraid of failure.  And it doesn’t hurt that I have kind of a sixth sense that tells me exactly where to go and how to do it.  I’ve always been able to read minds.  And as for new ideas, I swear they’re floating in the air.

I believe I am psychic.  I certainly have had psychic experiences since I was a small child.  And I have survived because of this inner voice I hear inside my head that leads me to the right place at the right time.  Some may call it luck.  I call it intuition.

And I’m married now; I can honestly say, happily.  And when my kids try to pull the wool over my eyes, they know by now it’s impossible because I know what they’re thinking.  And, incidentally, my oldest, Sara, turned out exactly like me.  As a result, we often communicate silently.  She has even more psychic ability than me.

S. Aimes
Boulder, CO