When I was 9 something really terrible happened. I conjured a tornado accidentally.
I mean, I thought that I had accidentally conjured a tornado. I’m pretty sure now that I didn’t. Like 87% sure. Probably wasn’t my fault there was a tornado. Probably.
Here are the facts.
1. I made up a rhyme about the wind taking my sister away (Sorry sister! Would you classify this as better or worse than the time I tricked you into eating cat food? Which, in my defense was actually labeled “tuna”, but yeah, I knew it wasn’t like the tuna people should eat so….sorry about that too.)
2. There was a tornado that very night.
I mean, c’mon. The obvious conclusion a 9 year old little girl could come to was that she was a witch. And boy did I feel guilty. Like really really guilty. How could I have known I had the power to control nature? Was my power a gift or a curse? Could I get the wind to bring Jonathan Taylor Thomas to my birthday party? So many important questions weighing on my child-mind. So. Many. Questions.
And then, like a week or two later we learned about tornados in science class at school and I became pretty sure that there was actually a scientific explanation for the tornado and the rhyme I made up had just been a poorly timed coincidence. I mean, I was sure enough to not feel guilty anymore, but not sure enough that I completely rid myself of the notion that I might have magical powers so I’m very careful about my rhyming these days.