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  • Sara Moore

It's a "Real" Job

I'm sure many of you heard me tell the story about my son a few years ago, when he was embarassed about what I did for work and he didn't want his friends to find out.  We agreed that when someone asked him what I did for work he'd simply tell them "Computers."  This summer I had a reading while he had a friend over, and he freaked out trying to think up an excuse for when I stepped into my office and left them to go to work for 30 minutes.  I told him that all he had to say was that I helped people over the phone.  That seemed acceptable. 

So yesterday when I was waiting for him to wrap up his activity in the afterschool program I chatted with one of his friends mom about their dog.  Apparently I was pretty accurate, because her husband couldn't believe it and her son, who is also one of Z's best friends, was in on the entire conversation.  Today I arrived to school and as I was looking for my son his friend came up and asked me how old his dog was.

I had no idea.  I said, "3?"  He said nope.  She's almost one.  Ok.  Then I remembered that I had "read" the dog yesterday.  As you know, I go totally blank afterwards so him coming up to me and asking me that was as normal as another kid asking me what time it was.  Then he quickly asked me how I knew what his dog was saying.  His mom showed up and was standing next to me, but I felt the need to be a little discreet about this conversation.  Funny, huh?  But you never know who may not think talking about a psychic reading is acceptable in an elementary school cafeteria.  I told him to think about his breakfast.  And that when I do a reading, I "see" the message the same way he saw his memory.  The dogs or animals show me a picture in my head, and I explain it. 

He nodded.

Then he asked if I can do the same with people.  Yes.  So you can read their minds?  No, not really.  Can you read my mind?  Ummmmm.   If you think of a color I'll tell you what it is.  He stared at me.


How did you know that?! 

Staring again...... 



Staring.  Again.



Then Z walked in and his friend ran over to him and totally cornered him by the pile of backpacks.  His mom started telling me how he was FASCINATED by what I do and how I do it.  I had my eyes on the boys, though, and ask his friend was talking, Z had this smirk sort of creeping towards the corner of his mouth and they kept looking over at me.  Then Z had this total shit eating grin on his face, blushed a little and hustled toward me and out the door.

As we were walking to the car I asked him what that was all about.  His response was something like this:

"Well, back in first grade and I told him what you do for work he said that it wasn't a real job, and that you can't do that.  I told him it was true and he didn't believe me.  Then tonight he said that you knew what he was thinking and that he totally believes that you are psychic now and he apologized.  I told him, Dude, I KNOW!  I tried to tell you that in first grade!" 

It was pretty stinking awesome, because Z was proud of what his crazy mom does for a living and also because it wasn't that strange any more.  He did mention that he was pretty sure he was going to tell some people and the word would get out.  But for the first time since I can remember it didn't seem to phase him!

You know what I told him when I got into the car?

"Bud, you are going to have some crazy stories to tell your kids when you look back at your childhood."


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