It is supposed to be bad luck. It should not be the date you decide to start a life together.

My parents, however, didn’t pay any mind when they decided to marry January 13, 1956, which was a Friday. They were married until my dad died, which was just a couple years short of their 50th anniversary. They had 5 children and a bunch of grandkids. I’d say it worked out for them.

My husband’s parents were also married on the 13th, but it was a Saturday in June. Still, there anniversary falls on a Friday pretty frequently. They have been married almost 40 years and have three children.

It was pretty strange that both my husband’s and my parents were married on the 13th in months starting with J. We didn’t follow in their footsteps. We were married on the 10th.

This isn’t where the coincidence ends.

My mom and my mother-in-law were both born in March.

My dad and my father-in-law were both born in October.

My husband’s family had a family number. Generations had worn the number 51 in various sporting events.

After marrying, my husband and I frequently used 51 as part of passwords. Once, we were attempting to come up with a new password. To do so, we decided to add up our children’s birth dates. Autumn was born on the 19th, Amanda was born on the 20th, Maxine was born on the 5th and Justin was born on the 7th: 19 + 20 + 5 + 7 = 51.

I love my husband, and I am happy that a long time ago, my parents decided to marry on Friday the 13th because if they hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t be married to my best friend.