Fortuneteller
A childhood “blessing”
In 1965, I was an awkward, self conscious, jumping-out-of-my-own-skin child of 12, on the brink of adolescence, filled with unknown dread of what the teenage years would bring. During that awkward time, my elementary school had an annual fund raising fair, and my friend, Celeste, and I attended the fair together. Celeste was my best friend, and being with her always gave me a sense of being safe and “part of”.
Among the cotton candy stand and dunking pool stood the gypsy fortune teller tent, and the fortune teller peered outside the canvas flaps, scanning the crowd for potential customers. In reality, she was an eighth grade teacher dressed up like a Halloween version of a gypsy, a colorful scarf tied in her hair, flowing patterned skirt, gold hoop earrings, and glittering bangles tinkling on her arm. Neither Celeste nor I had her for any classes, but when her eyes rested on us, we were drawn to her tent like bees to honey.
When my turn came to enter the tent, she led me inside the dimly lit space and proceeded to shake my hand.
“Yours is the first firm handshake I’ve had all day.”
“Really?”
I briefly reflected how two weeks previously, my gaze had fallen on a library book, which included a section on the etiquette of introducing oneself to others. I had remembered about the “firm handshake” part and had self-consciously practiced it with this fortune teller.
This book was a strange choice, to be sure, for a 12 year old girl. I had always felt awkward in the concrete world and realized I would need a lot of help learning the social niceties to get along in life. My tastes ran more to The Count of Monte Cristo, Little Women, and a Civil War series, the name of which escapes me. The End of the Tunnel, a book I remember enthusiastically reading more than ten times, was a gripping adventure story of two children who discovered a cave that leads to another civilization…
“Get your head out of the clouds,” was the singsong refrain my mother often directed towards me.
As I stood shyly basking in this wonderful woman’s compliment, she sat and gestured towards the hard backed school chair on the other side of her table. A clear crystal ball lay between us. She gazed into it for some time, sighed, then took my hand, and looking into my eyes, said quietly,
“Right now you feel like an ugly duckling. Your life has many challenges. You will be a late bloomer, but when you bloom, oh my, it will really be something.”
Okay, she could have said these words to any awkward pre-adolescent, but it was as if she were speaking directly to an essential need in me I didn’t know even existed. I don’t remember the name of this dear soul, but I do remember the utter relief I felt in her words, the consolation to a child who was filled with such dread, and who struggled with strange obsessions and compulsions.
“How did you learn to read fortunes?” I asked, partly to mask the confusion I felt at being so vulnerably seen.
“I love being a teacher, but I’ve always felt I had a gift I can’t really explain. It’s my first love.”
She had briefly set aide the fortune teller mask and had trusted me enough to share something very real about herself. I was moved by this gesture. Blessed by her words. In hindsight, I can see that she was an intuitive empath.
What she told me that day has stayed with me for the last 55 years and has been a touchstone, one of many gems threaded on the golden strand that I have grasped through this life journey. I have, and continue to be, forged in a ferocious crucible. The lessons have been hard, the transformations impossibly glorious, brought about by personal willingness and a Love marked by Grace.
Dear Reader, I invite you to look back in your life and remember one person who nurtured you, who perhaps, without even knowing, was a blessing to you, giving you the support and strength you needed to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
And then, think about one time that you were a blessing to someone else.