Almost everyone knows a few details surrounding their conception or birth. My Grandma once told me she always expected my uncle to be a sailor, because he was conceived in the bathtub. Seriously. Why would your granddaughter need to know that? But the story surrounding my birth is pretty fabulous, if I do say so myself.
Before she ever met my father, my Mom had a dream about having a child. She was to give birth to someone who was going to start a new religion, and end the current beliefs. When she met my Dad she recognized him immediately, not by his appearance, but by his energy. She got pregnant, out of wedlock, and told Grandma about the dream, stating she had to keep the baby. She worked hard on picking a name with the appropriate numerology, and settled on Nathan James Robertson. Natha Jane was the best she could do on short notice. It has better numerology, anyway (11 instead of 7).
Grandma was a devout Jehovah’s Witness, and wasn’t pleased about this prophetic dream. She used to tell me, “Do you know why you’re a girl? It’s because I prayed every night of your Mom’s pregnancy that you would be a girl and break the prophecy.” Not only was I born female, I had red hair and brown eyes, just like Grandma always wanted one of her girls to have. Between the two, she welcomed me joyfully, even out of wedlock.
The best part is that Mom never dreamed what gender the child would be, she just assumed it would need to be a boy to be a religious leader. She confided this to me, but she never corrected Grandma. It was better to let her believe she broke a prophecy.
Isn’t that a fun story?