When I was two, possibly three-years-old, my mother and her friend visited an old gypsy woman. That in itself is remarkable, because I grew up in Antioch, IL and as far as I know there has never been a gypsy caravan in my hometown. And yet, my mother and her friend found an old gypsy woman.

Now, my mother does not believe in fortunes. At least, not the type told by gypsies. But because they had found an old gypsy woman, which, as I said was remarkable, and because gypsy women are famous for telling fortunes, my mother decided to ask about her fortune. And this is what the gypsy woman said:

“Barbarrrrrrra . . . ”

And yes, the gypsy woman said it exactly like that, because besides being famous for telling fortunes, gypsy women are also famous for twirling their Rs.

“Barbarrrrrra, I’m-a not going to tell you your fortune.”

And my mother, who didn’t believe in fortunes, was suddenly very disappointed. After all, if you went to a Chinese restaurant and at the end of the meal the waiter told you they’d run out of fortune cookies, you’d be disappointed. Why? Because even if you too don’t believe in fortunes, the truth is, at the end of a Chinese meal you’re not looking forward to the dried out tasteless cookie; no, you’re looking forward to reading your fortune. Which is to say. . . my mother was very disappointed. And this is what she said:

“Why?!”

“Barbarrrrrra, I’m-a not going to tell you your fortune because you are a mother and mothers are never interested in their own fortunes. No, mothers are only interested in the fortunes of their children.”

And in that moment, my mother knew that she had stumbled upon a very, very wise old gypsy woman because, of course, the gypsy woman was right. My mother didn’t care about her own fortune; like all mothers, she really wanted to know about the fortunes of her children.

“Barbarrrrrra,” continued the gypsy woman. “ Your-a first child, a boy (which was correct), he’s-a born under a lucky star. He’s-a going to be verrry lucky and a verrry rrrich.

Which, of course, made my mother verrrrry happy.

“But beware,” added the gypsy woman, “Stars that burn too brrright, burn out quickly. Beware the son who thinks too highly of himself!”

“I will,” said my mother, nodding her head.

“Barbarrrrrra, your-a second child, also a boy (and also correct), he’s-a not going to be so lucky. He’s-a not going to be so rrrich. He’s a going to be verrry talented. He’s a going to be a drrrummer!

And this too made my mother very happy, because her husband (my father) was a musician. And it was good to know that one of her children would follow in his footsteps.

“But beware . . .” added the gypsy woman.

“Oh, don’t worry,” said my mother, interrupting her. “That he’s going to be a musician is warning enough!”

“Barbarrrrrra, your-a third child, a girl. Ohhhhh, she’s-a so pretty. She’s-a the most beautiful child the world has ever—

Okay, she didn’t say that, but she did say:

“Barbarrrrrra, your-a third child. A girl. She’s-a not going to be so lucky. She’s-a not going to be so talented . . . She’s-a going to be a wrrrriter!

“A writer!” exclaimed my mother, overjoyed. “And what should she beware of?”

“Ahhhh” said the gypsy woman smiling, “Why. . . of being too lucky, too talented and too rich!”

And from that day forward, my mother, who didn’t believe in fortunes, began introducing me as her daughter, the wrrrriter!