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Wednesday’s Child By Salli Saxton

Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace, Wednesday’s child is full of woe, Thursday’s child has far to go, Friday’s child is loving and giving, Saturday’s child works hard for his living, And the child that is born on the Sabbath day, Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

-Author Unknown

Chapter 1 It has been said that to be born on a Wednesday is an instant curse. To some, this is a silly superstition, and a wise tale handed down through a nursery rhyme. To me, it is reality. It is my life and it has always been my destiny. As with all curses, there is never a place to run. There is never a place to hide, and although we all may try, you can never change the course of your destiny. I have heard about this curse since the time that I was old enough to understand, and I was around the age of six when my grandmother first revealed my fate to me. One summer evening while spending summer vacation with my grandmother, she called me outside for a walk with her. It was a walk that we had taken many times together, and it was always a time of peace and contentment for me. Our walks were always taken in the evening, when the night was cool and the stars were just beginning to twinkle. Like a nightly ritual, each walk led us down a trail that ran through a wooded area that lay only a few feet from my grandparent’s country home. To this day, I could still walk that trail with perfectly straight steps with my eyes closed, and I can smell the summer jasmine that once bloomed along the path. On these days, no different than any other, my grandmother would take my hand and we would walk in the cool night air as the stars would shine above us. I can still hear my grandmother’s voice, as she would repeat the rhyme “I see the moon, and the moon sees me God bless the moon and God bless me. For he so loved the world, he gave his son you see. I love God and God loves me.” I would look far up into the sky and repeat this rhyme with her over and over again. But on this particular evening, as I began to chant the words in a second verse, my grandmother squeezed my hand and silenced my rhyme. “Anika,” she said. “You be a Wednesday’s child, destined for a hard life. We did everything we could to stop your mama’s labor. But nothing we tried would calm your desire to come into this world one day later or one night earlier. It is not good to be born on a Wednesday. It just ain’t good.” I looked into her eyes mixed with trouble and hope, and although I had only a child’s concept for what she had just said, I suddenly remembered something that I had overheard somewhere at some time. Without missing a beat, I looked up to her and I quickly said, “But Granny, I’m a big girl and big girl’s ain’t never afraid to rumble with the devil.”

Chapter 2 At 38, I’m still waiting for the devil to show up, and over the years I have even looked forward to it. My motto is “Let’s just get it over with, and may the best man stand”. I’m ready to rumble and I’ve prepared myself for the fight. That’s not to say that he has kept himself hidden through the years. But the truth, is that he has shown up many times, and always unexpected. The problem is that he has a way of being subtle. He shows up for a time, and then quickly disappears. It’s not until after the dust has settled that I even know that he was there. He’s a tricky and conniving little demon, and it’s because of this, that I hate him even more. A true warrior has no problem showing himself. He’s proud of his reputation, and he’s ready to prove and show that it’s true. But a coward hides behind non-strategic tactics, choosing to pounce only when the unsuspecting victim has his back turned. For this, I have no respect. And for this, I have no fear. But this wisdom is only gained in adulthood. As a child, the devil held me hostage. There is a condition called phobophobia. It’s a real medical condition, and it is defined as having a morbid dread or fear of developing a phobia. Simply put, it’s a fear of fear. It’s an anxiety condition, which can lead to panic attacks, heart palpitations, shortness of breath, and basically; a paralyzing lifestyle. I once suffered from this condition, and it came over me shortly after realizing what my grandmother actually meant during our walk that summer. To have someone tell you that your life is destined for doom immediately steals your joy. It takes away all hopes and desires that you may have for your future, and it casts rays of black on any spectrum of color. This is why I never understood why, on God’s green earth, anyone would ever pay a palm reader or a psychic just to know their fortune or their future? It’s not as beneficial as one may think. Once you’ve heard the bad news, then just what exactly are you supposed to do about it? We all know that you can’t change fate. And if it happens to be good news, then you are always anticipating a day that never seems to come. It’s a vicious cycle to fall in, and that’s probably how those con artists are able to keep their clientele. Give them the good news first, and then end their session with the bad. This has to be a very effective way to keep a revolving door of paying fools. But, if you were to ask me, I’d tell you not to waste your money. I know firsthand that you can receive your destiny for free. When I was 10, my phobophobia began to kick in. From that point, I was always looking over my shoulder and waiting for a devastating incident to either take over my life or eventually end it. I never knew for

Wednesday's Child  

Excerpt from Many Paths, Many Feet