Superstitions

As I was waiting in the intersection to turn left, the light turned amber and the driver of the car coming from the opposite direction kissed his hand and then tapped his car’s ceiling as he sped past. I don’t know what the name for that practice is, but I know I’ve been doing it since I was a kid. But why? Do I think it will prevent me from getting T-boned? Or that it will stop a cop from giving me a ticket? 

I’ve also avoided stepping on cracks for most of my life, I drink out of my Penn State mug for all of football season, and I used to tape a Tootsie Pop wrapper to the strap of my shinguards before each soccer game. Some of my behaviors could probably be better labeled as obsessive-compulsive, rather than superstitious. Even so, what keeps me doing them? I’m sure at some point I felt as though they eased my worries or would bring me good luck. Some, I’ve heard, keep away evil spirits, like tapping my glass on the bar before I take a shot, or tossing a pinch of spilled salt over my left shoulder.  

As Halloween approaches, so do the images of spooky spirits, and I can’t help but get caught up in the superstition of the season. If a black cat crosses my path, will a witch be close behind? Maybe, maybe not, but I’ll be sure to light my Jack-o’-lantern just in case. 

What Doesn’t Kill You…

When I was little, I loved having the attention of my older brothers. They’re 11 and 12 years older, so they had many other interests aside from playtime with their baby sister. Needless to say, whenever I got their attention, I was up for anything…and I mean anything

A common activity was being timed on how fast I could do things for them. “Go get me a soda! I’ll time you!”

Or when we’d play hide and seek and they’d stuff me under the couch cushions and sit on me and act like they didn’t know where I was. 

Then there was that time Jon tore up the neighbor’s yard on his dirt bike while I was riding piggyback. 

Or that time they both got tired of babysitting, so they threw me in the backseat of the car for a joyride. They pulled so many donuts in a cul-de-sac that I’m still unable to get on carnival rides. 

But my favorite activity was playing Monster with Joe. The story line was always that he was the Monster, like as in Frankenstein’s, and someone was always trying to take away his Dolly (yours truly), so he had to keep me away from the bad guys. He’d whip me around in circles by one arm and then let go. I’d fly and roll across the yard and then run back for more. 

Now I know what you must be thinking… You wish you had brothers like mine, don’t you?