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of its frequent lecturers on healing. Each of these philosophical stopping points was critical in his evolution as a psychic. It seemed as if Pop was enrolled in some sort of supernatural PhD correspondence program.
    I was extremely hesitant to talk to any of the kids at school about ectoplasm, the akashic records, the mystical sect the Hunza people, or any of the other arcane topics that Pop discussed with me based on his readings. Out of necessity I developed a dual personality. During school hours I needed to appear as normal as possible, in order to avoid being beaten up or laughed out of class. However, as soon as I came home and opened the front door, it was like walking onto the set of I Dream of Jeannie or Bewitched. For me these TV shows were like documentaries rather than fantasy sitcoms. At last there were other people who, like me, lived in a parallel, paranormal universe. Major Tony came home from his day job at NASA to find his genie ready, willing, and able to put spells on people, read minds, and alter reality.
    After school, along with my homework, my father provided informal lessons in metaphysics. He would casually discuss subjects like Atlantis, astrology, kundalini, and Buddhism the way that other dads talked about baseball players or politics. These subjects had a captivating quality, as if I were listening to the latest installment of One Thousand and One Arabian Nights . Soon I knew more about chakras and reincarnation than I did about Tom Sawyer or American history. Our conversations about multiple incarnations and life in other dimensions made it somewhat difficult to actually focus on my algebra homework. When at home, I lived in my own imagination as I daydreamed about mystical beings and supernatural feats of power.
    In an effort to mimic my father’s new interests in religious spirituality, I signed up for an evening one-on-one Bible study class. I really did it for the free illustrated Bible, which had great pictures and was the reward for finishing the course. My parents watched in horror as a former Fuller Brush man with a limp would come to our house twice a week at seven o’clock at night and make me memorize psalms from the New Testament. Since I only wanted the free Bible and wasn’t doing really well with the apostles, I quit after five weeks. I just wasn’t that interested in the door-to-door salesman’s version of Jesus’s Good News.
    As my father continued to teach me about the ins and outs of reincarnation, it made me feel as if this life didn’t matter that much. After all, it was just a preview for the next one. Because everything was predetermined by God, spirits, and karma, I assumed that it made no difference whether I studied or not or whether I excelled or not, because God had a plan for me. The problem was, I didn’t know what the plan was and felt powerless to change it. As a result, my school performance began to plummet. I figured if my destiny was to be an honor student, then God and His spirit cohorts would make it happen for me. Learning to read cues and affirmations from my environment as omens, my beliefs were often reinforced when my mother would spontaneously break out in her favorite song: “Que Sera, Sera”—whatever will be, will be…
    Mom continued to work hard at being a supportive wife, as if her husband had merely taken up golf or tennis. While she rejected most of his “wacky ideas,” she did her best to go along with his new interests. On nights when he disappeared for yoga lessons, she expressed her delight that whatever this thing called yoga was, it was helping him relax from the tensions of the office. Ever practical, she focused on the end result of his metaphysical curiosity.
    She endured the first wave of “kooky friends,” which included the yoga teacher, astrologers, and other seekers, with a good-natured hostess smile and a feigned interest in the conversation. Over time the smile