It's Friday the 13th and I suppose someone has to have something to say about that. I've never suffered under superstition, knock wood. I have broken mirrors and black cats and the undersides of ladders in my wake. But my baby brother has a reason to be funshy on Friday the 13th. Back in 1968 he was blissfully playing on the side porch at the Big House.
Mom and Pop had a glider, a steel Davenport made as outdoor furniture. Sitting on the glider, one could 'glide' forward and back in a mock rocking motion. Anyway, the damn thing weighed in at a good 90 pounds. My brother and his buddy Keith Wnes were busy running around the glider and ignoring the fact that the side porch had no railing. The front of the side porch was no higher than three feet from grade. But, given our topography, that three feet at the front dropped to six feet off the back. And the back is where the glider was.
One too many trips around the glider for the two boys when one of them grabbed the glider, stumbled off the porch and took everything with hm. Down they fell, Keith, my brother and the steel glider. Then the damage assessment.
Keith ran in circles wailing and weeping and bleeding from the nose. The glider was a scratched but unbroken. My brother stood up with a look of incredulity on his face as he looked at his left wrist which was bent in an unfamiliar way. The back of his hand laid flat on his lower arm. His wrist was broken on Friday September 13th.
Two weeks later his class photos were taken and my brother made sure to raise his cast enough to get into the picture. Two weeks later and Pop had installed a wrought iron railing around e side porch.
So my brother steps lightly on Friday the 13 even fifty years later. As for me, I'm looking for a mirror to break.