I've been very lucky. All my life. Lucky to have a family that thinks my stories are funny. Lucky to have found the right husband. Lucky to have kids that I love and they love me back. Lucky to have amazing friends. Lucky to be alive. I, of course, attribute this "luck" to rich blessings, a strong faith in God, opportunities and love. But what about all of those lucky charms I once clung to?
I once had a rabbit's foot on a key chain that I ordered from a Scholastic Book order in 3rd grade. I lost that down a grate at my Grandparent's house while gazing at its luckiness.
Another time I thought that luck would be on my side if I skip jumped over the step that had all the paint worn off it every time I journeyed down into the depths of our dark, murky basement. I'm pretty sure that's the step I hit with my chin when I tripped up the stairs while carrying a bucket of ice cream and a pound of frozen hamburger.
Then came the pet rock. I kept it in my winter jacket pocket. My mom washed the jacket and dried it. Of course the rock came sailing out of my pocket the minute the dryer made its first revolution. Little did I know that the little black line I thought was a smile, was more like a splash of tar. The pet rock left bits of its "smile" - not so much on my jacket, but on the rest of the laundry. I denied that I'd ever seen such a rock.
So when my nine-year-old asked me what would be a good luck charm he could carry with him during math tests, I suggested that it be something he could part with if it indeed found another home accidentally - and it should be free of tar. He came up with an idea. He thought I should make a secret code that just he and I know, and then I should write him a lucky note using the code he could stick in his pocket... hmmm. Again, lucky to have a kid who's a lot smarter than me. I'm guessing it's a good thing that none of my good luck charms stuck around. See? Lucky again.