“I had only one superstition. I made sure to touch all the bases when I hit a home run.” — Babe Ruth
Ah, leave it to the Bambino to make a joke about a superstition. There is a curse named after him, but here’s a fun fact: Ruth never cursed the Red Sox, at least not publicly. Yes, most Boston fans thought it was a stupid move to sell Ruth to the evil empire that is the New York Yankees, but there was no mention of a curse at the time. The bad juju was first brought up by a New York Times journalist, George Vecsey, when he wrote a column after the Sox lost the World Series in 1986, titled “Babe Ruth Curse Strikes Again,” and a myth was born.
Many people have superstitions and full disclosure. I’m one of them. Perhaps it’s my Irish upbringing, but I think you will find superstitions in any background. The Irish don’t have a monopoly on these odd beliefs, but we sometimes make them pretty colorful.
Growing up, my mother always had a bird feeder in the yard. She loved her birds and made it her mission to feed them and keep the marauding squirrels away from the scraps she would put out. However, no birds or images of birds would ever come into the house. A bird in the house was an omen of death; she wouldn’t have that in any form. The belief only applies when a live bird flies into a home, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
The one time a bird flew into the breezeway of my home, I had to wave my son’s hockey stick at it while screeching, “Out of here, you!” as it chirped and fluttered around. I’m not a devout Catholic, but once it was gone, I sprinkled a little holy water around, just in case. I also ensured the horseshoe over my door was firmly attached, with the open end facing up, so the luck didn’t fall out. You can’t be too careful when there are birds involved.
Another belief my brother and I are still stuck with is that you should never put a hat on a table or a bed. I don’t know why; it just is. To this day, if we see a hat on a table or a bed, even just in a movie or something, we both twitch a little. I’ve said to my kids, “Get that hat off the table, are you trying to kill us all?”
There is no science to superstition or proof that these beliefs are true, but if I spill the salt, you best believe I’m tossing some of it over my shoulder. Oh, and I’ve never once dropped a knife and not had a man show up soon after. Granted, it was the mailman, and he delivered around lunchtime when I’m usually making a PB&J, but still, in my house, dropping a knife means a man will show up every time.
Who does it hurt if I have to knock on wood or cross the street if I see a black cat? One of my favorite episodes of my favorite television show, “The West Wing,” mentions the superstition of not celebrating a win until it’s official because it will “tempt the wrath of the whatever from high atop the thing,” which sums it up pretty well. Superstitions might not be real, but do you want to take that chance?
My high holy day, St. Patrick’s Day, is almost upon us; I can’t wait. I don’t just wear green because it goes well with my red hair. I wear it so a leprechaun doesn’t pinch me, and so far, it’s working. We all need a little fun, so maybe superstitions keep us from taking life too seriously. Here’s to the luck of the Irish and everyone else, too. Slainte!
Brenda Kelley Kim has lived in Marblehead for 50 years, and is an author, freelance writer, and mother of three. Her column appears weekly.