I was listening to Grasshopper No.2 tell childhood stories. She was around 12-13 years old and following her sister up the stairs to bed (at the time we lived in Sheboygan on 6th Steet). Grasshopper No.2 was becoming annoyed with how slow No.1 was going and started pushing and ordering "hurry up". No.1 turned to her sister and said "ssssh! Quiet! Wabbit Twacks". They both broke out with laughter. Reflecting back, I think they watched way too many cartoons.
Today is Friday the 13th. It is significant because predictions are that bad things happen on the 13th. My first boss in Sheboygan was Curly. He had a fear of the number 13 which is called "trisadectaphobia". Curly wouldn't fly on the 13th. He would schedule a different day. He was wary of any bad thing that happened on the 13th.
Now I don't want to say I am superstitious. Just because my Dad was buried on the 13th and one year later my Grandmother Helen died on the 13th. No sir, that does not affect my judgement at all. This morning a gravel truck sent stones my way and chipped my windshield. Does that bother me? No sir. My coffee pot overflowed because I forgot to empty the old coffee out before brewing a fresh pot. Does that bother me? No sir! I picked up a garbage bag to put in the City Canister and the bottom fell out. I thought nothing of it. These things happen to everyone.
So I've got a choice. I could crawl back into bed and hang on to the sides and wait until the 13th turns to the 14th. Or, I could live life with zest and ignore all the bulls---.
The lesson Grasshoppers is that superstition of the number 13 makes the imagination come alive. The fear of the 13th is only a problem if you let it. Live your life with zest.
Love,
Dad
It was the house on 6th St. - for the record.
It was the house on 6th St. for the record.