A friend shared this family story with me.
I know some people consider this a ‘bad’ luck day. For me it has
always been good luck in a convoluted way. You see my father (who has
since passed on) was born on Friday the 13th, at home. He was born
three months premature and only weighed 2 lbs. 9 oz. To keep him alive
they placed him in a shoe box on the oven door and gave him a shot of
whiskey every hour. By the time he was 13 years old he was six foot
two and weighed one seventy five.
So you see, in an odd way Friday the 13th is lucky for me.(Otherwise I
might not be here.) This story has made its’ way into some of my
writing in one form or another.
Thanks for letting me share. I find it a fascinating story and it is