04-18-2010, 01:31 PM
When I was young, between the ages three and five I had a constant companion. His name was Mr. Biggie and we played together every day and would sit in my room and talk of the important things in life. He would go everywhere I did, and when I started school he was right there by my side through all the nervousness of meeting the other children. He loved my excitement to learn and shared in my joy as I loved going to school! I never asked why he like hanging around with me, he had just always been there since as long as I could remember.
One day I had come home from school, and my mom wanted to sit down and talk with me. Usually this meant I was in deep trouble, so through gritted teeth I listened to what she had to say. My teacher Mrs. Goodrich had phoned her to tell her I wasn't doing doing very well in school. My grades were fine, but I wasn't socializing with the other kids normally. I spent my free time and recess playing alone, and talking to myself. Of course my mom knew I was really talking to Mr. Biggie. So that day I got the talk about how I shouldn't play with imaginary friends.
For a long while I worked hard at not talking to Mr. Biggie in front of my mom or my schoolmates. He was still there but our friendship was now a secret. I knew the adults didn't understand he was real, but I did. As my kindergarten year wore on and I worked at spending more time with the other children, Mr. Biggie came around less and less. By first grade he didn't visit or play with me at all anymore and I missed him deeply.
Life happens. Every so often as I grew into first an adolescent, then a young woman, then a wife and mother I would think of my imaginary playmate only once in awhile. By my early thirties I was well accustomed to the fact that I have been frequently been visited by some aimless wandering spirits. As an adult, I slowly learned about mediumship and psychic giftings and read everything I could about the spirit world in trying to gain an understanding of why, well...ghosts would seek me out to communicate with me.
Again, I sat down to talk to my mother. She had witnessed so many of my experiences that even she couldn't deny something was going on, and she became the first to affirm my gifts as an adult when nothing else explained things or rationalized how I could have so many details in hauntings. "Kamae, YOU are haunted", she told me.
One night, just a year ago while I was thinking about and further researching my psychic gifts Mr. Biggie came to mind. Though it was many years ago that we had known each other, I wrote down all the details I could remember about him. In my child's eye view his spirit (but not his physical body) was about my size, but he was much older...a grandfatherly type. He had been in World War 1, had children and grandchildren and I reminded him of one of his granddaughters. I knew Mr. Biggie's first name too, yet out of respect never called him anything but Mr. Biggie as he was my elder.
I also knew Mr. Biggie had followed me home one day along the big hill at the end of the dead end street we lived on with my mom as we cut through a walking path along a fence after getting off the bus. That path was a shortcut, and had a long fence along it that ran between Willard Street and parallel Goodyear Boulevard. The fence that ran up and over that hill contains Hillside Cemetary on the other side from the walking path. I don't know why that had never hit me as hard as it did that evening. I also realized, it was when we moved to another city that he completely ceased to come around altogether.
I called my mother nearly hysterical. She was the lead researcher for a local paranormal team in my hometown at the time and I was living in Tennessee by then, so I put her to work. Her access to historical records as well meant she could look them up with ease. There, in a census report for 1950 was Mr. Biggie's full name plain as day. Further research into the death records for the area show he died just a few years later.
Take a guess where he'd been buried.
One day I had come home from school, and my mom wanted to sit down and talk with me. Usually this meant I was in deep trouble, so through gritted teeth I listened to what she had to say. My teacher Mrs. Goodrich had phoned her to tell her I wasn't doing doing very well in school. My grades were fine, but I wasn't socializing with the other kids normally. I spent my free time and recess playing alone, and talking to myself. Of course my mom knew I was really talking to Mr. Biggie. So that day I got the talk about how I shouldn't play with imaginary friends.
For a long while I worked hard at not talking to Mr. Biggie in front of my mom or my schoolmates. He was still there but our friendship was now a secret. I knew the adults didn't understand he was real, but I did. As my kindergarten year wore on and I worked at spending more time with the other children, Mr. Biggie came around less and less. By first grade he didn't visit or play with me at all anymore and I missed him deeply.
Life happens. Every so often as I grew into first an adolescent, then a young woman, then a wife and mother I would think of my imaginary playmate only once in awhile. By my early thirties I was well accustomed to the fact that I have been frequently been visited by some aimless wandering spirits. As an adult, I slowly learned about mediumship and psychic giftings and read everything I could about the spirit world in trying to gain an understanding of why, well...ghosts would seek me out to communicate with me.
Again, I sat down to talk to my mother. She had witnessed so many of my experiences that even she couldn't deny something was going on, and she became the first to affirm my gifts as an adult when nothing else explained things or rationalized how I could have so many details in hauntings. "Kamae, YOU are haunted", she told me.
One night, just a year ago while I was thinking about and further researching my psychic gifts Mr. Biggie came to mind. Though it was many years ago that we had known each other, I wrote down all the details I could remember about him. In my child's eye view his spirit (but not his physical body) was about my size, but he was much older...a grandfatherly type. He had been in World War 1, had children and grandchildren and I reminded him of one of his granddaughters. I knew Mr. Biggie's first name too, yet out of respect never called him anything but Mr. Biggie as he was my elder.
I also knew Mr. Biggie had followed me home one day along the big hill at the end of the dead end street we lived on with my mom as we cut through a walking path along a fence after getting off the bus. That path was a shortcut, and had a long fence along it that ran between Willard Street and parallel Goodyear Boulevard. The fence that ran up and over that hill contains Hillside Cemetary on the other side from the walking path. I don't know why that had never hit me as hard as it did that evening. I also realized, it was when we moved to another city that he completely ceased to come around altogether.
I called my mother nearly hysterical. She was the lead researcher for a local paranormal team in my hometown at the time and I was living in Tennessee by then, so I put her to work. Her access to historical records as well meant she could look them up with ease. There, in a census report for 1950 was Mr. Biggie's full name plain as day. Further research into the death records for the area show he died just a few years later.
Take a guess where he'd been buried.