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The summer after I had turned 13, I attended a 3-week camp in Wisconsin Dells. The majority of campers came from Chicago. But there was a whole group of girls--from Wilmette suburb, who had known each other since grade school. I got to know this group after a few days, and about a week later, it was lunch time. I headed towards the mess hall and saw this group together talking outside. Except for one very noticeable thing. One of their clique was about 6 feet away on the ground, crying her eyes out--and they didn't even notice or care. I walked over to the girls and quietly said--"What...uh... is going on over there?" The reply came from one of the girls. "Naomi has had dreams all of her life that always come true. Last night she dreamed that her dog died." And the girls went back to chatting as if nothing was unusual. I was standing there feeling totally creeped out. The statement was made in such a nonchalant way as if it was just an average event. Camp in 1966 was very different than now. There was no phone communications allowed between parents and campers. Campers were in the wilderness and the only thing allowed was letters from family and friends. Two days later Naomi received a letter from her parents that her dog had died.

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