Nerding Day: Is Your Child Psychic? (Patreon)

Isn't that charming? Raising a saner generation is a low bar. Here’s some parenting advice from a doctor:

Sorry, that's fucking insane. Here's some parenting advice from a doctor:

Caps lock is PROFOUND. Clozapine is OPTIONAL. Worldbuilding is PARENTING. The neighbors are JEALOUS. CPS is LYING.

Amazing. And context-free, my second best habit. The first? Projecting climate rage on harmless nonsense. For one, I got catty when Gifted Kid Syndrome was the weekly topic. I should've saved "Caucasity Event Horizon" for something that mattered. Instead, I tried to get jumped by an improv group. Don't laugh: Velcro Sketchers sting like real shoes.

Today, for the first time, my mouth's caught up with me. It's my turn to open Notes, learn, and grow. If your parents tested you for telepathy, you have Gifted Kid Syndrome. If you spent eighteen years grinding clairvoyance, you have Gifted Kid Syndrome. If picking med school over Edwards Psychic Retreat started a shouting match, you survived starship parenting. You deserve empathy and respect.

Life's hard as a psychic baby.

Especially since you aren't. No one is. That's my wisdom as a wytch. As I've proven, wytchkraft is real and psychic powers are infantile bullshit. For slow readers, I've prepared a chart.

Glad we understand each other.

Well, I foresee some backtalk (through the cards, I'm not a degenerate). Some wytches believe in psychics. Some siblings drink. You love them anyway.

Now, if you've bought a book called Is Your Child Psychic?, you've already decided "yes." I hope. You could be a CPS double threat, convinced psychic children are real and your spawn are lazy shitters. In which case, I take everything back. I hope Carrie Empowered Mind Blast's you back into 3rd edition.

But who are our guides to psychic child-rearing? Well, first there's a doctor. I almost threw in scare quotes, but Alex showed me that backfires in the intro.

Got it.

I didn't have it. At all. In his public-facing jacket copy, Alex Tanous reps indie MKUltra. We're in for a ride. Especially considering his backup side-hustle, per the About the Author section:

Alex is an experienced educator. Much more than myself, in fact. While I fall off Columbia's schedule every time I mention genocide, Alex has been the sanity-preservation specialist for multiple high schools and universities. If your school shrink’s a psychic? Go ahead and join a gang. You’ll need the community support.

Two there always are: one to imagine power, and another to imagine imagining it.

A second-generation maniac—terrifying by default. Eileen J. Garrett's main claim to fame was channeling the victims of a blimp crash, and defying skeptical questions about robbing fresh graves. The incident's bugshit enough for its own article, and I'll do anything to avoid more Rebel Moon. Katherine claims to be Eileen’s Darth Maul.

Our authors are the past and present of seeing the future. You should believe them, because the Smithsonian sort of said so:

You know the empire's kickflipping off a train when this paragraph's one year away from being nonsense. More nonsense. The Smithsonian's new mission's preserving Americana without all the awkward bits, which leaves two weeks of dysentery-addled fundamentalists stumbling through the forest. Followed by some awkward bits. So the Smithsonian's new mission is nothing. But Alex and Katherine had no way of seeing that coming.

What a beautiful blend of ego, resentment, and authority worship. Truly the caucasity event gosh darn it. Though, come to think of it, that's much too optimistic. I'd rather not imagine a psychic Jamaican child. They're not eating dinner until they can solo Magneto.

Since I got into this mess by projecting, I'll let them define their goals.

You know what? Assuming psychic powers are realer than Bigfeet, that's not bad. I thought this book aimed for psychic Little League parents, dumping failed dreams of Crossing Over on their children. But the opening’s more X-Montessori school. Maybe a Miskatonic grant application.

Psychic softball it is. You dreamed of sending your boss to the Shadow Realm, and then his boss, and so forth, until you sat in the big chair. Now you rot on the sidelines, telling anyone that will listen that you called the '08 election first. Luckily, lifelong failurekinesis has an easy cure: your children.

Honestly, I have some sympathy for psychic dance moms. A career-ending psyker injury's at least half a lobotomy, scorching the lobe that handles shame. It's a miracle you remember how to say "Bend this spoon or break mommy's heart." If all that pressure produced extra neuroses and zero pyrokinesis, you'd have foreseen it. And if your child makes it to the minors (self-help publishing) big leagues (the 2 AM infomercial circuit), or the Hall of Fame (fraud sentencing) you'll be on easy street for the rest of this incarnation.

Now, we know your kids are psychic. Especially if they want dinner this birthday. But how do we get your coparent off your ass? First, you highlight the little clues:

At a mortal glance, this story means less than silence. You'd be more impressed by your kids making it through lunch without getting shot. But that's Kathleen's training under a vintage valor thief on display. She knows that going over the top looks far worse than two hundred pages of gas. Psychic origins, like national values and religious holidays, are legends improvised by each generation.

Still, many prefer stories where something happens. Here's the discovery of another psychic youth's potential:

I’ve seen this one before: it’s a story Abraham Lincoln told Albert Einstein on Lenny Bruce’s podcast. Wild stuff.

While I'm as virile and invincible as any other online cult leader, boiling both hands sounds painful. So painful you could hear my screeching from Austria. Hearing "Jesus Fucking Christ" from the same non-code building doesn't get you many psychic points.

Now I'm in. I haven't been this convinced since fuck off. Get timestamps and the words "dead bald civil rights leader" on tape for me to entertain psychic children, let alone replace recess with scrying practice. And that's generous. I should ask for "three bullets, disturbing sleeping habits, misquoted forever."

A teenager riffed on the famous death in her new home. I'm ready to drop everything and run Brooklyn Tech's Psychic Detective Club. We'll lose a few kids to telekinesis-proof bullets each semester, but we'll gain more friendships.

Now I'm convinced. Or at least worn down into agreeing. It's easier to agree with the premise and move on than argue. Which is the second most common psychic origin story, behind Lydia's united hot psychic theorem. To recap:

Now that we've been gaslit into the crystal ball fandom, let's learn why it allegedly matters. To make a long half of the book short, without hugs and encouragement, psychic powers shrink like dicks in the snow. For example, the Tragedy of Unnamed Girl:

I hope you find Dr. Jampolsky's uncited tales compelling, because they pile on through the chapter about psychic colors. There's a line between reference and plagiarism in the wytch community. But psychics lack such standards. .

As marshmallow fans know, child experiments come from people dumber than the children. I could burn neurons explaining why trading treats for answers just proves that sugar tastes good. Instead, I'll make it interactive. Offer a child that reads (honestly, a boon of the YA complex) ten dollars in sugar to explain why this test sucks.

Unlike flexible parapsychology, maniac studies can flatten their subjects. Despite a diverse and storied asylum, it’s tempting to stuff all madmen into one cell. But recognize, in this moment, how many strains of lunatic the psychic cure for blindness melds. Pseudo-academia. Scolding. Child welfare panic. Wizardry. Reverse medicine. This sentence is artisanal fraud, and I'm laminating prints as we speak. I aspire to its heights.

Now we know the opportunity cost of ignoring a young Edwards' gifts. But what about stomping on their dreams? Mocking your dorkiest child until they straighten up and fly sane? Katherine and Alex have premonitions, starting with imaginary friends. A local favorite.

A quality horror prompt, and negative proof of psychic toddlers. You can invoke junior uppercuts before anything. Hence the name moral panics, instead of moral adult lines of thought. Otherwise, debate teams would race to shout "cannibal slavery incest.” And you’d watch debate teams. Consider the following:

Writing this book together was a good idea: I don't know whether Alex or Katherine should be banished from civilization. While "let it ride" is the prime choice for imaginary friend management, pressing that particular point isn't in the same conversation as stamp-kicking your/any kid.

To victim blame: there's a full chapter on telekinesis and telepathy in here. Downtrodden psykers should ditch pacifism and embrace Yami Yugi mind-hugs. I explain it all in Should You Mind-Thrust Dad Into a Lake?

Then again, this next bit cites a doctor, and I don't. Academic creed declares Is Your Child Psychic victorious:

One moment.

Alright, back. The gist: imaginary friends are half real, and hint at your kid having a decent power point pool. After this print felony, Alex and Katherine add graceful overviews of psychic dreams (real), out-of-body experiences (extra real), and womb telepathy (vital to not raising Tetsuo). I'm not here for that. You're not here for that. All of this was pointless, I just love typing and my own reflection.

I'm here for the psychic aptitude test.

Psychic aptitude tests.

Again, we already know your kid's psychic. But unless angry, alienated teen mutants tend to love their mentors, try to slow roll that revelation. Let them realize they're homo superior, instead of spoon-feeding them Tarcher/Penguin books. If there's a gentler way than jokingly making them repeat a guessing game over twenty times, I can't think of it.

Telepathic readers will note that I'm still laughing. Long after press time. These articles run a week after I write them, and I'm still laughing. At this input. It is my sunlight. No matter how many unfun ways we go crazy, the psychic half of your madness is my rock.

I need more.

These beautiful, lazy bastards. For the first time, their resumes have weight. That’s dissertation-level copy/pasting. Maybe even a passing one.

As for scores? Your kid's psychic. I don't even know why they make you write anything. But for the analpaths out there:

Your kid's still psychic. But why stop there? It's better to treat these less like STI tests, and more like math quizzes. Grinding's the point. Psychic power is a skill, except when it's an innate trait, except when it's forces beyond our understanding, except when it's believing, except when it's he power of love, except when it's self esteem.

I happily paid full price for this book, and I'd do it again. I might tip.

Pop quiz: what’s next? You can cheat off me, but other psions are off-limits.

Your precognition’s improving.

My superior wytch visions say Katherine and Anthony have balls like hand grenades. This is Telepathy Test 1 again, down to the reps. At least Test 4 adds card tricks by changing one paragraph:

I don't work with kids, at least by army and court standards. But good luck getting past Telepathy Test 2 without half the room wanting a potty break or extension. If they push, only grant the potty breaks. Otherwise, someone will raise their hand for a personal crisis every five minutes. I think I work with kids.

Anyway, telepaths are a bit mainstream. They're basically flatscans that listen. Remote viewing, however, still has street cred.

For fuck's...fine. We'll jump ahead.

If stunting your kid's imagination is like battery, turning them into stage magicians is unprintable. You shatter their chances at healthy relationships or careers. "My dad taught me card fraud" is the kind of trauma bond that feeds therapists and short fiction.

I'm not getting pissed, per-se. That implies I expected anything from psychic filth, wallowing outside Hecate's light. But my expectations are being met, and I made them in bad faith.

Now I'm pissed.

Is there, perhaps, a hint of an atom of a demiquaver of a chance, that your kid knows a picture book in your home? Back to front? It might be the only book they've read. That's why there's so much junior Confederate propaganda. For a long time, Green Eggs and Ham is your personal New Testament.

The same two card tricks measure dowsing and psychometry. Fun question: what if they cheat on the psychometry test with clairvoyance? Or the telepathy tests with clairvoyance? Or the clairvoyance test with card counting? My main takeaway’s that most psychic powers are just casino math for washouts.

I've been harsh today. So while we’re out of psyker tests, I'll give the last chapter a chance to rally.

Fuck off. I notice that the ever-expanding universe skipped a telekinesis test. Are telekinetics harder to bribe with sugar? I suppose they can reach the top shelf themselves. You might need two marshmallows to tempt them.

Your psychic baby might be Buddha 2.0. Or, based on their parent's taste in books, The God Emperor of Mankind. You don't get a moderate messiah out of early psychic tracking. You've built their psyche on "I'm the universe's most special boy," and every moment south of that is a mental dagg—oh shit, that's what people meant about gifted kid syndrome. Mea Culpa.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: John McCammon, who understands that every child contains infinite potential, and wants to know how quickly that can become passive income.

You can read this article and every other one on the much better in every way 1900HOTDOG.COM, but you already knew that.