by George Beckerman

It was true that Tom had spent the entirety of his 46 years of life angry as all hell at everyone and everything. The teachers that gave him failing grades. The bosses that fired him. Girlfriends that fired him. Shrinks that fired him. The neighbor that fired at him. And Tom was not good with money. Only skilled at losing it. He was sure there was only one thing at the center of it all. One reason to be blamed for his lack of good fortune and over-abundance of misery. His birthday. More accurately, his birth date. July eighth, nineteen seventy-seven. 7/8/77. The exact time, three twelve a.m.

Tom believes that if his mother would have pushed him out just three hours and thirteen minutes earlier, he would have been the recipient of magic numbers. Numbers that would have catapulted him to a lifetime of fame, fortune and happiness. I mean, what was Tom’s mom doing during that three-thirteen? Having pizza delivered? Doubtful. Texting? Scrolling? Cellphones hadn’t been invented yet. Maybe she was hung over from a 4^th of July party. Whatever it was, Tom was the victim. What is better than 7/7/77? Nothing. 1/1/11 is cool, but not in the same ballpark. So, right out of the chute, Tom and his mother, not good.

Tom was hoping that there was a plus about his birth date floating out there that he didn’t know about. Something significant, historical even. When he did the research, all he could find was: “7/8/77- On this day in KISStory, KISS launched their Love Gun Tour in Halifax, Nova Scotia.” Really? Oh yeah, one more. On 7/8/77, Sabra Starr finished the longest recorded belly dance. One hundred hours. And that’s it. Insult to injury.

This horror show of a life led desperate Tom to partake in an extremely specialized rehab. A sanctuary where the magic number deprived can perhaps make some sense of their luckless lives.  Well, I’m here to tell you the good news. Tom met an 8/9/88 and they fell in love. He also connected with a 6/5/66, who would become his new boss. When he graduated from rehabilitation, Tom was so energized and positive about life that he resolved his relationship with his mother. Not long thereafter, he and 8/9/88 were married and Tom was promoted to department head by 6/5/66. Then came some bad news/good news. Tom’s mom passed away, but she left him a shockingly unexpected million dollar inheritance.

If you’re thinking (and/or hoping) that Tom’s turn-around catapulted him onward and upward…think again. Tom was divorced, fired and blew the million.  A simple eight word sentence. That’s how fast he was tossed right back into his destiny.  Tom was either right about magic numbers or he was just a world class loser. It’s a jump ball on that one.

But what of the other non-magic number folks, a.k.a., pretty much the rest of us? The vast majority who not only care about global warming and keeping bees alive, but are desirous of bringing new humans into this grind of a world. The news may have not been as widespread as say, what Taylor Swift had for breakfast on any given day, but I’m happy to report that action already began in the early 2020’s. In preparation for 2/2/22 future parents timed their arriving offspring for a shot at those magic numbers to the extent that hospitals were overwhelmed on that day. The incoming were dubbed Gen MN. And currently, the National Obstetricians Association has already predicted that 3/3/33 will be even bigger.

The rest of us, unfortunately, are on our own.