The Early Years
My career as a Medium started in my sandpit then progressed to the top of Dad’s shed. At the tender age of five I sat in my sandpit sculpting the world’s best mud creation when I asked myself a simple question, “What shape should I make it?” A flood of suggestions surged into my mind like a raging river. Another time I clambered onto the iron roof of my father’s ‘sacred’ weatherboard shed wearing my brand new Superman costume. Convinced I could fly, I suddenly heard a voice enter my mind and say, “DO NOT jump off there! You’ll end up at the vets like the dog did when it broke its leg.” How could a kid argue with that kind of advice? While these weren’t earth shattering, mind-altering experiences we’ve come to expect from Hollywood, I knew the thoughts coming to me were not my own. They were someone else’s.
In one way it was a lucky thing I never felt compelled to mention to my parents that I heard the ‘voices’ of dead people. Being of Catholic faith, my parents probably would have marched me straight off to the local priest insisting I hold rosary beads in one hand and a string of garlic in the other – just in case. Seriously, I felt no need to tell anyone because in my heart I knew I could trust my ‘new friends’ even though I couldn’t see them. To my five-year-old way of thinking, my invisible friends felt like my mum and dad. Whatever advice they gave me I knew I could trust and that they would keep me safe. To me, communicating with my invisible friends felt very natural.
So there I was, a kid who could communicate with spirits of loved ones passed, growing up in an ordinary middle class Catholic family doing ordinary things. There was no eccentric aunt with a passion for wearing flowing gowns constantly brandishing crystals at me while promising my mother she could cleanse me of my mischievous boyhood antics.
There was no Uncle with a lucky winning streak because he had an uncanny knack of dreaming the number of the winning horse for the next day’s races. I didn’t even create social disasters for my mother like announcing to the lady’s gathered at her afternoon tea that Betty Jones’ husband was going to have an affair or by predicting that Mrs Walsh would run over her neighbour’s cat tomorrow afternoon at 3. Nothing about my family, school, neighbourhood or community experiences pointed me in the direction of Mediumship. Saying that, I did however experience odd things.
Most kids are blessed with a fertile imagination. Sometimes I wished my real experiences matched other kid’s make-believe stories. You’ve got no idea how I prayed for a monster to be living in my closet, or for dust bunnies to be living under my bed that turned into flesh eating creatures after midnight if I got out of bed to go to the toilet. Instead, I’d wake up very aware of people standing around my bed. I couldn’t see them but I knew they were there. “Have they operated on me and removed my gizzards? Or have they turned my legs into a fish tail?” Sadly, none of these exciting things ever happened. To my eight-year-old mind, I still didn’t have a story to compete with the closet monster or flesh-eating dust bunnies.
Eventually, the spirits did start to form in front of me. Even so, for a ten year old boy, they were rather disappointing wispy puffs of smoke. They were nothing like ‘Casper - the Friendly Ghost’. Instead, I caught glimpses of light and misty shapes while being aware of their presence as male or female, young or old. I paid as much attention to their chatter as a kid does to an adult conversation around a dinner table. While the spirits sometimes caught me off guard or surprised me, they never scared me. They added a certain level of comfort and security to my life. Spirits being around were just a normal part of my life as kid growing up. I didn’t really think it was anything too special. Then one day I turned thirteen. Hello testosterone!
My boyhood legs suddenly felt the surge of man building power hormones. Sports were in and I was the King. Girls were hot and in need of much attention. Cars were mean machines in need of owning. So “Hey good looking, my name is Tony and I talk to dead people,” simply wasn’t going to win me friends or impress the most popular girl in school.
It wasn’t a conscious decision to block out the spirits in my life, but the conversations and surprises became less frequent. Looking back, I feel the spirits gave me the space I needed during my teens to deal with puberty. But in saying that, my gift never left me during that time. I can remember walking into houses and instantly becoming aware of any spiritual energy present. Of course I didn’t tell anyone, especially my mates.
By my early twenties the spirits had begun flooding back into my life again. By design or default, I’m not sure which; I was being drawn to all things paranormal. I read anything I could get my hands on about ghosts, hauntings, psychics and the unusual.
In one way it was a lucky thing I never felt compelled to mention to my parents that I heard the ‘voices’ of dead people. Being of Catholic faith, my parents probably would have marched me straight off to the local priest insisting I hold rosary beads in one hand and a string of garlic in the other – just in case. Seriously, I felt no need to tell anyone because in my heart I knew I could trust my ‘new friends’ even though I couldn’t see them. To my five-year-old way of thinking, my invisible friends felt like my mum and dad. Whatever advice they gave me I knew I could trust and that they would keep me safe. To me, communicating with my invisible friends felt very natural.
So there I was, a kid who could communicate with spirits of loved ones passed, growing up in an ordinary middle class Catholic family doing ordinary things. There was no eccentric aunt with a passion for wearing flowing gowns constantly brandishing crystals at me while promising my mother she could cleanse me of my mischievous boyhood antics.
There was no Uncle with a lucky winning streak because he had an uncanny knack of dreaming the number of the winning horse for the next day’s races. I didn’t even create social disasters for my mother like announcing to the lady’s gathered at her afternoon tea that Betty Jones’ husband was going to have an affair or by predicting that Mrs Walsh would run over her neighbour’s cat tomorrow afternoon at 3. Nothing about my family, school, neighbourhood or community experiences pointed me in the direction of Mediumship. Saying that, I did however experience odd things.
Most kids are blessed with a fertile imagination. Sometimes I wished my real experiences matched other kid’s make-believe stories. You’ve got no idea how I prayed for a monster to be living in my closet, or for dust bunnies to be living under my bed that turned into flesh eating creatures after midnight if I got out of bed to go to the toilet. Instead, I’d wake up very aware of people standing around my bed. I couldn’t see them but I knew they were there. “Have they operated on me and removed my gizzards? Or have they turned my legs into a fish tail?” Sadly, none of these exciting things ever happened. To my eight-year-old mind, I still didn’t have a story to compete with the closet monster or flesh-eating dust bunnies.
Eventually, the spirits did start to form in front of me. Even so, for a ten year old boy, they were rather disappointing wispy puffs of smoke. They were nothing like ‘Casper - the Friendly Ghost’. Instead, I caught glimpses of light and misty shapes while being aware of their presence as male or female, young or old. I paid as much attention to their chatter as a kid does to an adult conversation around a dinner table. While the spirits sometimes caught me off guard or surprised me, they never scared me. They added a certain level of comfort and security to my life. Spirits being around were just a normal part of my life as kid growing up. I didn’t really think it was anything too special. Then one day I turned thirteen. Hello testosterone!
My boyhood legs suddenly felt the surge of man building power hormones. Sports were in and I was the King. Girls were hot and in need of much attention. Cars were mean machines in need of owning. So “Hey good looking, my name is Tony and I talk to dead people,” simply wasn’t going to win me friends or impress the most popular girl in school.
It wasn’t a conscious decision to block out the spirits in my life, but the conversations and surprises became less frequent. Looking back, I feel the spirits gave me the space I needed during my teens to deal with puberty. But in saying that, my gift never left me during that time. I can remember walking into houses and instantly becoming aware of any spiritual energy present. Of course I didn’t tell anyone, especially my mates.
By my early twenties the spirits had begun flooding back into my life again. By design or default, I’m not sure which; I was being drawn to all things paranormal. I read anything I could get my hands on about ghosts, hauntings, psychics and the unusual.
