The Great Prognosticator
By: susan peterson stamis
Tags: bomb, guatemala, parents, premonition, psychic, travel
Category: foreign service, Uncategorized
My mother considers herself to be psychic. Almost always, however, Mom’s apocalyptic predictions rely on after-the-fact hindsight, her post-event revelations prefaced by some past tense variation of, “I knew it,” or, “I had a feeling!”
Her fearful restless mind spews out undefined (something’s going to happen) premonitions so frequently that she’s bound to be right every once in a while, and so she was in long ago 1958 Guatemala, when she spent most of one day carping at my father to stay home from an unscheduled evening at work because, “It’s your birthday, Pete.”
Dad had been badgered in this way often enough that he should have been able to resist Mom, but it was a restless time in Guatemalan history and maybe suffering from his own vague sense of unease, my father allowed my mother’s persistent nagging to suppress his sense of duty.
Dad stayed home with Mom for a rare evening alone. They had settled down to their martinis and Glenn Miller when the phone rang to announce that Dad’s office at the American Embassy had been bombed, blowing out the windows and scattering to the heavens smithereens of desk and documents. Thankfully, Dad’s body parts were safe in the living room with my surprisingly unruffled Mom, who turned to him and said, “I’m psychic, you know.”
8 comments on “The Great Prognosticator”
Leave a reply to Mary DeMangus Wigton Cancel reply
About Me
My father was a Consular Officer in the United States Foreign Service. He was first stationed in post World War II Berlin, where I was born in 1950. Subsequently, we lived in the Philippines; Jamaica; Guatemala; Washington, DC; Greece; Ceylon and Mexico; visiting many places in between. I was reared by my parents and nurtured by the various amahs, nannies, and housemaids who, every two years or so, entered and exited my little life.
I was educated in American Schools in “foreign lands,” but the most fascinating classrooms were the exotic locales where we lived, and the most inspiring teachers were the colorful people of those exotic and ancient cultures.
The bi-annual “home leaves” which my family spent at my grandparents’ homes in Los Angeles, California provided a sense of constancy to our nomadic lifestyle. My many aunts, uncles and cousins lived there and I eagerly looked forward to those vacations. We were 1st and 2nd generation Greek Americans (all 4 of my grandparents had immigrated at the turn of the century), and thus had foreignness stamped onto us even though we were Americans.
Two of my father’s siblings were also in the diplomatic service, and we world-traveling cousins were a source of endless curiosity to our domestic counterparts when we came home speaking English with unusual accents, reducing the statesiders to hysterics.With his various cameras, Kodachrome, Ektachrome, 16 millimeter, Super 8 and Polaroid, my father rarely lost an opportunity to document the events unfolding around us. After years of waiting patiently in boxes under the stairs, these photographic records are now fulfilling their purpose as mnemonic retrievals of my little life.
Mnemonic Retrievals 
Wow, Susie! I had no idea! Fascinating, as always.
Great story Susan.
Great pic and story, Susan! Happy New Year,
Marta
Marta Fuchs, MLS, MFT Speaker, therapist, writer http://www.MartaFuchs.com
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Oh yes! Look at that look in her eyes. If that doesn’t say it all. Love that you can always communicate these happenings to perfectly, Susan.
“I’m psychic 😋💦 you know”
Wonderful story. Heaven works in mysterious ways, and apparently even through your mother. I’m glad she persisted!
Love this!! I hope you are planning on making all these into a book. ❤️Happy New Year!
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What a fearful restless mind can do!