Once again, nothing horrible happened to me last week on Friday the 13th. But there’s still a chance my luck won’t hold.
Did you know that 2026 has not just one or two, but three Friday the 13ths? (That’s is the most any year can have.) Because this isn’t a leap year, the month of March—except for the three extra days at the end—will, of course, be exactly like February. So there’s our second Friday the 13th. The third won’t happen until November, so we have plenty of time to relax before worrying about that.
Over the past quarter century, until now, three Friday the 13ths in one calendar year happened only three times: in 2009, 2012 and 2015. Two Friday the 13ths per year happened 12 times. One Friday the 13ths happened 10 times. And here’s a cool fact that makes perfect sense when you picture a calendar in your mind. Whenever the first day of the month falls on a Sunday, which is cool in and of itself, there will be a Friday the 13th that month.
So how did Friday the 13th come to be a day associated with bad luck? Opinions vary. Some say it dates back two thousand years, to the Last Supper. Judas Iscariot was the thirteenth person at the table (in addition to Jesus and the other 11 disciples) on Maundy Thursday. The crucifixion followed on Good Friday. Thus Friday the 13th.
Others associate the “bad luck” tradition of Friday the 13th with Norse mythology or with the arrest of the Knights Templar on October 13, 1307 (a Friday, of course).
So is there any scientific truth to the notion that Friday the 13 is unlucky? None whatsoever. In fact, there are those who contend that Friday the 13 is actually an especially lucky day because so many people are trying hard to NOT let bad things happen to them.
Fear of Friday the 13th has a name: paraskevidekatriaphobia. This malady affects some people so badly that they won’t even get out of bed that day, let alone cook breakfast or walk the dog or go to work or fly in an airplane.
Though the fear of bad luck doesn’t paralyze me on Friday the 13th or any other day, that’s not to say I don’t take reasonable precautions. I never, ever walk under a ladder. I don’t open umbrellas indoors. I do my darndest not to break a mirror, though that happened not long ago to a little mirror I kept in my purse, forcing me to use my cell phone camera in selfie mode to touch up my lipstick. If a black cat crosses my path, which happens a lot in my feral feline-filled neighborhood, I’m a little uneasy for the rest of the day. I never consider stepping on a sidewalk crack or putting shoes on the table or a hat on a bed. And if I spill salt, you can bet good money that I’m going to brush it into my right hand and then toss it over my left shoulder.
I’m exceedingly glad our sweet little town doesn’t have any tall buildings. But if we did, I would hope against hope that all those with at least fourteen stories would have them built directly above the twelfth floor. Because who wants to live or work or receive medical care on the thirteenth floor?
And don’t even get me started on the “Friday the 13th” horror movies, which debuted way back in 1980 and have been going strong ever since. There are 12 films in the franchise and I’m not the least bit embarrassed to admit I’ve never seen even one. Because watching Jason slash teenagers to death at Camp Crystal Lake would almost certainly give me a bad case of paraskevidekatriaphobia.
Nobody wants that.
(February 21, 2026)