My mom was a bit of a mystic. Not in the literal sense, though my middle school friends might have a different view of her during those awkward years. She was exceptionally superstitious. Throughout my childhood, I watched her sprinkle salt over her shoulder and utter peculiar phrases. These weren’t your typical warnings about black cats or broken mirrors; instead, they were dire predictions about misfortune, like birthing babies with horns or ruining weddings simply because you added too much oregano to your marinara.
When my high school sweetheart gifted me pearl earrings for Christmas, she remarked, “Pearls signify tears.” That was it, no further explanation.
Okay then.
To be fair, he wasn’t the best boyfriend, and her intuition about bad boys was spot on long before I realized it myself. Her comment definitely lodged itself in my mind. I’ve never been particularly fond of pearls, and for a girl from Long Island, avoiding that accessory was quite the challenge back in the ’80s, thanks to Madonna. But, it turns out, that boy brought on a lot of tears, so maybe she was onto something after all.
There were many of her rules that seemed devoid of logic, but they were simply adhered to.
- Never place your shoes on the table—an order I still follow.
- Never unwrap shower gifts with scissors—try resisting that one!
- Don’t wear black while pregnant—this one I didn’t heed until I found myself at New York’s San Gennaro festival during my first pregnancy. It was a typical street fair, filled with food stalls and tempting aromas. I was nine months along and wearing a fabulous solid black A-frame dress I had ordered from a catalog. It fit perfectly and would still be wearable post-baby. Back then, ordering clothes online was a gamble, but this dress was a winner—I felt like Audrey Hepburn. I even bought a hot pink version.
As I walked with my colleagues, an elderly woman at a food stand started gesturing wildly at me. I approached, thinking she might be offering a free sausage sample, but when I got closer, her expression shifted from welcoming to disapproving. She shook her head, wagged her gnarled finger, and began scolding me in Italian, making the sign of the cross before sending me away in distress.
I wore the pink dress for the rest of my pregnancy and never told my mom. (Spoiler alert: the baby arrived horn-free).
Oddly enough, all of her superstitions were rooted in folklore passed down from her own mother. I once heard my grandmother say never to sleep on your left side, or you’d crush your heart. Just imagine a little girl waking up in a panic, fearing she’d rolled onto her left side!
For most of my life, I accepted these customs without question, primarily due to respect for my elders and the lack of Google back in the ’90s.
However, as an adult, I sometimes pushed back. My mom often claimed odd-numbered years were cursed. Whenever tragedy struck, she would say, “Well, it is an odd year…” After a while, I had enough. Respectfully, I pointed out that I’d married in an odd year (30 years soon—like a badge of honor) and all four of my children were also born in odd years.
She paused, considered my points, and quietly admitted, “You’re right.” I could see her mentally cataloging the countless blessings her obedient daughter had brought into the family, shielding my kids from her dreaded black clothing.
Oh boy, how I would’ve relished the chance to remind her of this if she were here to witness the chaos of 2020.
For more intriguing insights, check out this other blog post and learn about the fascinating world of home insemination, or visit Make a Mom for expert advice. For additional information about pregnancy, don’t miss this excellent resource on MedlinePlus.
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Summary: This article reflects on the author’s experiences with her superstitious mother and how those beliefs shaped her views on parenting and life. From avoiding certain colors during pregnancy to the significance of odd-numbered years, the piece humorously explores the impact of inherited folklore in the face of 2020’s challenges.