Reincarnation is a religious notion that a person can be born again in a different body after his death.
Dr. Jim Tucker, M.D., a Professor of Psychiatry and Neurobehavioral Sciences of University of Virginia study cases of supposed reincarnation claimed by children. According to him, the children often offer sufficient points about their past lives that the stories can be traced back to actual person who died years before.
I am my Dad’s brother
I had a 5 year old who told me that his Dad’s brother died the day before he was born so they named him after the uncle. He said he thought it was hilarious because he is actually the uncle.
I laughed and said, “Oh so your parents say you act like your dad’s brother, then? That’s really cool!”
And he looks at me so seriously and says, “No. I am my dad’s brother. I remember all about him when he was a kid. He was such a little pansy and his favorite song was “Smells Like teenage Spirit but he also like Girls Girls Girls. I couldn’t stand his music. I still like Hootie and the Blowfish.”
He then proceeded to tell me the pranks he would pull on his brother and the TV shows they used to watch like Wild and Crazy Kids on Nickelodeon and how he had always wanted to buy a purple piece of the agro crag.
When I asked him if he talked about this at home he said, “Yes. It makes mommy cry and Donnie, or I guess he’s my dad, keeps saying he can’t believe it but I know he does. I sit at dinner sometimes and go over all of the mean things I used to do to him.” And I always wondered why he referred to his mom and dad as Donnie and Rachel ALL THE TIME! — JemmyGee
Two children, Two Past Lives
Hi, my name is Chanty Hespe. I was born in Vietnam. My beloved brother took his life at the age of 19. My father went to the temple to seek comfort in this experience. The monk told him that my brother would reincarnate within a year to two.
My son Joshua was born Sept. 26, 1995. I called my dad to share with him that he was a grandfather. I asked my father if he could recall the day my brother took his life. My father said it was on September 25, 1993 and he was notified of his death on the 26th.
I asked my father if he believed the monk that my brother would return into this world again within two years. He said he did. Then I told him that my son Joshua was born on September 26, 1995. I had gone into labor September 25. Breathless on the other end of the phone, my father asked me to check a mark on my son’s thigh, which he had never mentioned before.
So I did, and there was a mark. The next words that came out of my father’s mouth were: “He is not your son, but mine.”
I also have a daughter born Sept. 13. She is now seven years old and so beautiful. When she was two, she took her purse and told me she was looking for a job. I laughed and thought she was imitating a TV show. I asked her “where?” She responded, “New York City” and said that she would be back.
Well, four years later we watched the news together one night. It was a piece honoring the September 11 tragedy. She looked at me and said, “I want to visit that place. It’s very important not to forget those people.” I asked what she knew about Ground Zero and how she knew it. I told her it was an adult thing and she was too little.
She got upset and said, “I know it happened a year before I was born!” I had forgotten what year it happened and didn’t want her to know. So I wondered…what if she was one of those people who were in the 9/11 tragedy? But I didn’t think it was possible because, as I recalled, I was pregnant with her at that time. So I asked her, “What do you mean? What year did it happen?”
Her response was, “Well, it happened in 2001 because I was born September 13, 2002.” — Chanty Hespe
I was an old Man
This story is about a friend’s grandson when he was three years old. His grandmother (who was like an auntie to me) and grandfather were driving along a road in California, where they lived. They happened to pass by a cemetery where there were several men working with equipment to open a new grave.
While they were driving by, the little one said, “When I was an old man, I used to do that with a shovel for my job.” His grandfather was startled, as was his grandmother, and he had to stop the car by pulling into a layby nearby.
They questioned the boy ever so gently, asking him how he knew this. He responded something to the effect that it was what he knows he did, because he “‘membered” it.” He also had memories of his wife and of the fact that he had grown children when he did this job.
He is now in high school and doesn’t remember this event any longer, but his grandparents do. This incident seemed to cement their already long standing belief in reincarnation. — Jeanne M. Callahan
My Three-year-old Son had a Daughter
When my son was about three years old, we had spent some time playing at a local park. We crossed the street into an undeveloped wooded area in the town where we live in Michigan. He began to tell me this story as we stood in a clearing.
He said, “My ‘old daughter’ lived in the woods. We lived in the woods. She would sit on the ground. Put a cloth on the ground and sit on the cloth. Then she died and a tree grew. It grew and grew and broke a hole in the sky. A hornet came. She got poisoned and died. A thorn poked her in the eye.”
I said to him, “That’s a nice story about your daughter.”
He continued to talk, saying, “Yeah, I was thinking about a song. It goes: ‘da chi ja, da chi ja.’ It’s a really long one.” He sang this with a Native American rhythm.
Hearing my son’s story at such a young age, without any previous discussion of reincarnation, was an amazing experience. It was a wonder to stand there and listen to him tell me this story so innocently. This occurred on May 4, 1992. I wrote it down on a piece of scrap paper and carry it with me to this day. He is now fifteen years old. — Tyyne
My Nephew was a WWII Coronel
I babysit my 6 year old nephew, Matthew (Matty) every Tuesday and Thursday of the week since my sister shifted to a new schedule. My nephew likes to draw some odd figures and he was always so busy making them – the same figures and he always kept it like it’s something important.
When he would return home from school drawing dead people on the ground and people looks like in a war and he would post it in his room. I asked him what that is for. Then something tells me it’s not my nephew I’m speaking with.
“Stay out of my business. My men were dying at that time. Don’t you know how this failure feels?”
Matty is somewhat very well-mannered and has a bit of a temper on him when we put away his art materials. Sometimes he’s just a normal kid who just likes to watch cartoons and ask for snacks.
I stole one of his drawings and showed it to my boyfriend. We found out these odd figures have a latitude and navigation. My nephew is just 6 and he didn’t even learned a thing about navigating a map this clever. I just figured this is a map that resembles Russia.
My sister had him consulted to a therapist. He asked my nephew some questions.
Therapist: “Whats your name?”
Therapist: “What are you?”
Matty: “Polkovnik.” (We didn’t understand what it means)
By the 3rd question were not able to hear furthermore because the therapist said Matty seemed to be uncomfortable answering these questions when me and my sister were around. So we waited. After the therapy, the therapist explained.
Matty was a colonel in a Soviet Union. We showed his drawings of the map, he said it was a map of Frankfurt, Germany and Russia. He explained that the colonel was being interrogated and they stab him right on his left thigh. Coincidently, Matty has a birthmark on his left thigh. He also said his death was very brutal, but didn’t explain in vivid detail. He suggested to let him draw his thoughts off and there’s nothing to worry about it.
Me and my sister, along with Matty, came to Russia for three days and toured around the red square. Matty was pointing to places and told us what happened at that time [the time he was alive in an apparent past life].
My nephew said he wanted to go to “Medvedevka.” We were not very familiar at this place so we took a ride. What shocked us was that Matty pointed out the directions to that place. We were surprised that when we stopped by a cemetery. My nephew was emotionless – he was finding something and I told my sister leave him be.
We found Matty, talking to a grave which said “Polkovnik Yevgeniy Ivanovsky 1878-1952” (Colonel Eugene Ivanovsky 1878-1967).
Me and my sister felt deep sadness when Matty cried and touched that grave. – Aunt