"Elvis is going to be reincarnated as a blue-eyed blonde this year," Mama announced to me when I was pregnant with Cole several years ago. "Sylvia Browne just said so on ‘Montel' this morning."

Now Mama being as quirky as she is loves her some Sylvia Browne and never missed an episode of Montel Williams' show when the psychic was on.

"And you are telling me this why?" I asked.

"I think my future grandson is the next Elvis."

"You don't even believe in reincarnation," I reminded her.

"I know I don't, but when he gets here, Cole may be the King."

So my mama has spent the last several years watching for any signs of Elvis in my child.

"Cole sure does love his mama," she observed one day. "Elvis was crazy about his mother."

I rolled my eyes. "So's every son."

Cole has a natural affinity for music, standing in front of the stereo when he was 1, beating out the rhythm of a song with his hands on top of the cabinet. When Mama was up for a visit recently, he broke out his guitar and played her a song he wrote about his favorite book series, ‘SkippyJon Jones.'

"He's never had any lessons?" Mama asked.

I shook my head.

"No, he's pretty much picked it all up by ear."

I took classical piano for eight years. I think I should get some tiny bit of credit for his musical ability.

Mama nodded slowly, a look of satisfaction on her face.

"Don't say it," I warned her. "Just don't."

"Well, I will say this: Sylvia Browne did predict that Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston would divorce that year and they did. Nobody saw that coming."

I snorted.

"Mama, that wasn't a psychic prediction. That was her knowing that beady-eyed man was making a movie with that man-eater Angelina Jolie. You don't have to be psychic to know that spells trouble and usually ends in D-I-V-O-R-C-E."

Mama was undeterred from her theory that my blonde haired, blue-eyed child is Elvis incarnate.

I will give her this; he can dance like the King. My child has a fluidity and grace about him that he didn't get from anyone in his family. And he loves listening to old Southern gospel music, as it pours out from his green Lego radio his aunt Karla gave him.

After a few lyrics, he picks up the chorus and starts singing along, with a solemn tone that is well beyond his tender years.

"Why does Nennie keep talking about Elvis?" Cole asked one evening after she left.

"Because she's silly and odd," I replied.

Cole giggled at my response.

"I think she wants me to be Elvis when I grow up," he said. "There was only one Elvis, though, right? That's why they called him the King."

"Right, baby."

"Mama, was Elvis the Justin Bieber of his time?"

An Elvis comparison to the Bieb? A man that gave us "Suspicious Minds," "In the Ghetto" and "Are You Lonesome Tonight" versus a boy who sings "Baby Baby Baby - Oh!"

"Elvis is an icon. He was rock and roll, he was magical. Bieber, Bieber is..."

I searched for words because I didn't want to say anything bad about the Bieb. He's just a kid, living his dream.

"Justin Bieber is a talented pop-star, but he's not exactly like Elvis. Back in the day, Elvis was bigger than Bieber. And for some, he probably still is today."

Cole digested this information quickly.

"Wow! So Elvis is bigger than Bieber? And Nennie thinks I could be the next Elvis, so that means one day, I will be bigger than Bieber too!"

"Maybe one day," I began cautiously but my kinetic child was off and running, in search of his guitar to pluck out a few chords.

And who knows, maybe one day he will be bigger than Bieber.

Sylvia Browne hasn't predicted it yet, but hey, it could happen.

Sudie Crouch is an award-winning humor columnist and certified life coach.