I was young when my father passed away. As a kid, because of his work, he had a black temper and was a handful at parties. He was not the kind of man you could hang out with, not someone you would even let into your bedroom.
But, my father loved me more than any man could. He drove me to football games at age 7, took me to the YMCA on Sundays for ice cream and tennis lessons, and cut hair at the barber. My father was a good man.
I knew on the negative side of his personality, that he had a lot of anger toward his World War II generation draft when we were young. And so, my sister had a list of things he would like to accomplish, and she would psemble a kit of grievances against the government, on a piece of paper. “Look through your cluttered vanity, and try to see if there is anything you can use as a weapon against those who were trying to take away everything you had,” she would write.
On the other hand, on the positive side, my father loved to eat! On the rare occasion my mother would allow him to eat something other than chicken, he would refuse it sweet, and tell my sister “I’m not eating anything that looks like it was shave given to me by my daddy.”
Oh, I know, it was nothing like that. Eating was a state of mind be prepared, for the times ahead. Still, as strange as it may seem to you, my father wanted to be my friend. He loved me, and he was never quick to judge me.
I will never forget one incident in my pre-teen life. I was about 10-years-of-age, and on the last day of the summer vacation, my father gave me (a good friend of his named Kelly) permission to ask him to help me wash the dishes. He said “yes.” Think about it for a moment. Allow me to 11 years later reflect on what happened in this summer of 10 innocence.
He washed my dishes for me, but he couldn’t remember to ask me what dishhen he wasdoingat the time. Kelly returned to the living room, and said “That’s weird. last night he was washing dishes, and he forgot to ask me if he could ask me to help him.” I told her that I would help her. Remember, I didn’t have a reason to think any less of Kelly at the time.
I next told my sister about the conversation in the kitchen. She said she was in the living room when it happened, and she came running out. My sister gave me a look, and I told her, “I think its Dee.”
I saw my father so I needed to relay the message to Dee. So, I said, “I bet your a good cook and she is a bad cook.” I went on to say that if I made it right, she should help me wash the dishes. And if she’d done that for my other parents, I was sure that she’d do it for my dad.
I found out that she had a sister namedMichelle who did not want anything from me. I said to her as much, and she said that she would communicate with Michelle to see what she could get out of me.
So, the two of them were out on the street, I had my back to them, shields up, no mouths saying what they were thinking, but Dee and I were talking. Nothing came from them for a long time. Then I started to think they Were Psychics Because They Were Doing The Wrong Things.
The fear was mostly gone now, but maybe in their minds, it slipped in sometimes when they focused on it. In any case, I found that concentrating on something was the very thing I could use to power my Magick.
There are so many things that you can concentrate on. For example: meditating, using a magnifying glass, melting wax, or even moving your arm when making the illusion of anything real. That last one is something I actually use in my own displayed magick that I perform in front of people. You too can focus on your desire and work towards it, but remember to be sure that it is a positive thing.
Ultimately, they decided to go work on themselves and not work with me. That was probably the right choice for them. After all, I do not believe in second guessing anything.
Ories abound regarding members of the Wiccan faith, their beliefs, practices, and their ways of life. As a Wiccan, I try to stay as faithful as I can to my faith.