Luck of the Irish? Not for me. I recently went to the mall with a friend. I went into the changing room of a department store and saw a drag queen. Later, the three shirts that I bought broke the cash register. On my way home, I got flipped off while trying to leave the mall parking lot alive. Strange for me? No. Unlucky? Yes. I was born on Friday, May 13th 1994. Now, the skeptics of the world may reject that a particular day has anything to do with luck. However, with God as my witness, I beg to differ. Three years ago, I had my leg smashed by Jesus’s cross in the middle of a church play. My youth leader was thoughtful enough to remedy the situation with bacon that happened to be in the church freezer. I suppose that if I can be thankful for anything from that experience with the bacon, it’s that I am not Jewish. The cross only left a colorful bruise on my leg. My collection of actual scars include a gash from a lazy river ride, bumps from when my dog’s leash whiplashed my hand, and stitches from a tumor that was removed from my neck. But my worst injury comes from an accident that I had with my first real bike. I picked out a pretty purple bike at Toys R Us when I was around seven years old. I watched with excitement as store employees made magic happen and assembled that bike. Unfortunately, that magic did not include making the brakes
work correctly. After one big descent down a hill and a face plant, my mom scraped me off the pavement. My two front teeth were out of place and my arms were raw hamburger. It wasn’t until I got braces four years later that my smile returned to normal. When I finally had my braces removed, I went roller-skating to celebrate. The day was perfect for skating--the sun was shining, the birds were singing and all kinds of other Disney stuff. I then rolled into a stick that, of course, didn’t move. I fell on my face yet again. This time, I chipped the exact same tooth that had been bent caddywampus five years earlier. Lest you think I am all gloom and doom, I have had some luck with the number thirteen. For my thirteenth birthday my parents surprised me with a scavenger hunt at the mall and a gigantic German chocolate cake, which is my favorite. On another Friday the 13th I found enough money to buy soft drinks for a friend and myself. My birthday also occasionally falls on Mother’s Day, which results in a great double celebration. All things considered, I may have to marry a leprechaun if I ever wish to be lucky. Maybe with enough green paint and shamrocks from St. Patrick’s Day I will survive another year.