I was born on Friday, the 13th. Now, usually when I tell my students this, they pause and look at me, and then they say, "That explains sooooo much." Hmmm, I'm not exactly sure what they mean by that, but I'll take it as a compliment.
Actually, they are most likely referring to my dark and evil side when they say that, but while they are wallowing in their silly superstitious fears, I am simply going on with my life unimpeded by such stupidity. You see, being born on Friday the 13th has left me impervious to superstitions -- they have absolutely no sway over my life.
In fact, I revel in debunking others' silly fears or in taunting them by using their fears against them. If there is a ladder leaning against a building, I walk under it simply to hear the gasps of the other passing pedestrians. One time, though, a slightly hysterical woman pursued me and demanded I walk back under the ladder to "undo" the harm I'd caused myself. I humored her, and then I walked back under it once more and then again and again until she hurried off in complete horror and disbelief at the risks I was taking with my life.
I spill salt all the time, and I've never tossed it over my shoulder. I deliberately kept a small broken mirror I'd dropped taped inside my high school locker to annoy my superstitious friends. I constantly open umbrellas inside and even opened one on stage while doing a stand-up comedy bit about the stupidity of superstitions -- one drunk guy about fell off his stool as he sloshed his beer out of his mug while yelling at me "You're not supposed to do that! Don't you know it's unlucky?!" (apparently, he missed the whole point of my five-minute bit).
When I was sixteen, I was the front seat passenger in a car that my best friend (at the time) was driving. Suddenly, she slammed on the brakes and flipped a U-ie (not sure how to spell that, and maybe you can tell I was an 80s girl). My head smashed into the side window, and as I rubbed it, I yelled, "What the hell was that about?" She looked at me in utter disbelief and said, "Didn't you see the black cat in the middle of the road? I had to turn around before it crossed our path." Well, duh, of course. We must avoid the dangerous black cat at all costs -- even the cost of our lives as we swerve from one lane to another into oncoming traffic without even checking to see if someone is behind us or if somebody is coming toward us. We simply must avoid the cat! Good grief. Needless to say, for that reason and others not concerning her superstitious ways, that girl was soon my ex-best friend.
I now have a black cat. He is wonderful, and he crosses my path multiple times every day. I'm the first to admit, though, that sometimes I think he's evil, but I love him anyway.
I feel sorry for superstitious people. Actually, no, I think they are stupid. And clearly, since they are superstitious, then they are stupid since a superstition is a belief based upon a completely irrational presumption. They are not using their brains; thus, they are stupid -- no offense intended if you are one of those people (well, maybe a little bit).
In addition to having no superstitions at all, I think that being plagued by people offering me pity every year when my birthday falls on a Friday has had another odd effect on me -- I love cemeteries. I think they are the coolest places in the world after used book stores and tropical beaches. However, despite my love for cemeteries, I do not want to end up in one -- I want to be cremated with my ashes scattered over a beautiful tropical beach. But I digress. Cemeteries fascinate me while they tend to frighten others. Could be because those others are irrationally frightened by things that don't exist -- like superstitions . . . and ghosts.
Most likely I am not superstitious because I was born on Friday the 13th and have had to put up with people's shit about it all my life, so my lack of superstitions is more of a rebellion against those who do have them, but I'd also like to think that I'm smarter than the average superstitious person and that I use my rationality to understand that walking under a ladder will not bring me bad luck -- unless I trip and knock it over and injure the guy using it or something like that.
Sadly, people's superstitions go beyond the combination of Friday with the 13th and seem to concentrate heavily upon the number 13. I love that number. It is my birthday number after all, so I am annoyed that so many places do not have a number 13. Most hotels, tall buildings, airplanes, etc. Check them out and you'll see that the number 13 is usually absent. I would live on that floor and in that apartment number. I would sit in that seat number and in that aisle. It is just a number.
I, for one, embrace all Friday the 13ths as the best of days. I love black cats. I fear no salt (except the ocean salt that gets in my eyes while I swim -- ouch), and I do not believe in luck whether it is good or bad. We make our own luck. No umbrella or ladder decides it for us.
My birthday is on a Thursday this year, so my students can't give me too much crap about it, but I'll probably dress in black and laugh maniacally just to remind them that they should fear me anyway. I might not be a slave to superstitions, but they are. Mwau-ha-ha-ha-ha . . . . . .
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