I frown in dismay as my 15-year-old fumbles with her cell phone, alternately punching redial and disconnect. She does this for several minutes, until the shrill voice of a 12-year-old from the next town screams in disbelief at being declared the winner of the coveted "FRAY' concert tickets. Rolling her eyes, my daughter murmurs the litany of the terminally unlucky: "I knew I wouldn't win..."

I don't chastise her defeatist attitude, because I know from experience, that she is correct. She will not win. We will not win. We never win. No matter how trivial or inconsequential the prize, we do not win. Why? It's really as simple as this; collectively or individually, we are not lucky people. We never have been; we never will be.

After 52 years of observing the lucky, I truly believe that luck is inherent and possibly even inherited. I know people and whole families who seem to have nothing but luck. Trips to the Bahamas, IPods, and consolation prizes; luck falls into the laps of all those around me, but I know for certain it will never be mine. I remember once in Las Vegas, standing in front of a slot machine at Caesar's, fumbling through my purse for a silver dollar. I had my hand on the coin, but just then an older gentleman walked up, and being the good-natured soul I am, I bad him to go ahead of me. Seconds later, bells rang, and the crowd cheered as he scooped the winnings into large buckets. My husband and I just looked at each other and shrugged. For us, this type of thing was to be expected.

Proof of our "unluckiness" is not limited to the fruitless tug on a slot machine, but demonstrated on a daily basis, and under the most ordinary of circumstances. For instance: I go to the market to pick up my four-year-old's "Barney" birthday cake, four-year-old in tow. Heading back to our vehicle, with a very full cart, we stop to let a little old lady maneuver into the handicap parking spot. Half-way into the spot, she decides she needs to re-maneuver, and puts it in reverse, turning the back of her car in our direction. It's quite obvious, she does not see us. I quickly move my daughter and the cart out of harm's way, and wait patiently for the woman to park her boat, err... car. Not quite satisfied with her positioning, she puts it in reverse, again, heading straight for us. I realize, that my cart is smack against the curb, and there's no time to get it and my daughter to safety. I grab my daughter, and run up onto the median, turning just in time to see the lady demolish my cart.

Oblivious to the fact that she's just taken out a week's worth of groceries, the lady drives off to the other side of the parking lot, with my cart permanently attached to her bumper, and pulls into a more accommodating parking spot directly in front of the liquor store. Needless to say, I spent the next half hour trying to comfort an inconsolable four-year-old who'd just seen her purple hero smashed to smithereens, whilst directing traffic around the resultant mess of laundry soap mixed with Barney cake. I had no idea how treacherous driving on such a concoction could be, however several unsuspecting shoppers found out that day!

These type things do not happen to people I know, only to me and mine. If I order custom curtains, I know I can count on the fact that when they arrive, the color or the length will be wrong. If I send my computer out for repair, I can assure you when I get it back, it will have the wrong operating system installed. If I go to get my NYS driver's license, I know for sure the nasty clerk will tell me that Michigan has no record of the license I have just handed her. And, I will , without a doubt, find out that my neighbor (who hates cats) is indeed missing a cat very much like the one I took to the animal shelter, and was unfortunately put to sleep 3 days too soon. This is my life.

The other day, as we crawled through construction on 1-90, on our way to my daughter's long anticipated NYSSMA audition, my daughter looked at me with sad eyes, confident she was going to miss her solo; "Why do these things always happen to us?" I felt a tug at my heartstrings, this was one of the times our unluckiness really bothered me. "Don't worry" I assured her, "we'll make it in time," even though I believed it to be highly unlikely. Getting through this traffic was going to need something on the scale of parting of the red sea. Miraculously, traffic started to move and we were finally on our way.

We made it to audition with 10 minutes to spare, located her assigned room, and waited patiently for the girl to check the long list of names. "I'm sorry, you're not on my list; maybe you're in a different room..." Great, there were no less than twenty rooms for Soprano Solos! Room after room, the response was the same; "sorry, no, you're not on this list". Finally, we located my daughter's chorus teacher (also her accompanist), who confirmed that my daughter was indeed scheduled in the first room we'd gone to. As it turned out, my daughter had been reassigned to a different room. Ok, now we're getting somewhere. With one minute to spare, we got to the newly assigned room, and after briefly checking her list, the unfriendly girl stated matter-of-factly "You missed it. You were scheduled to sing a half hour ago". Apparently, she'd not only been assigned a different room, but also a different time. We showed the girl our paperwork and explained about the misinformation, but the girl was adamant, there were no openings left. Though her chorus teacher continued to assure my daughter she would sing, I was beginning to have my doubts. Again, luck gone bad.

This is so not fair, I thought. God,I prayed in a brief, but angry prayer, I know we're not lucky people. I accept that we're not lucky people, but come on; I'm not asking for a million dollars here! I'm not asking for tickets to the "FRAY", or even that the comforter I just ordered comes in in the right size. I just want my daughter to be able to sing the song in her heart. Please?

Eventually, the chorus teacher managed to secure an open time-slot, and as it turned out, my daughter sang well, and secured a 97 for her performance and a perfect 10 in site-reading. I credit her wonderful teacher for her persistence and assurance, which went a long way toward keeping my daughter calm, but maybe, just maybe we had a little help from a friend. I like to think so. Either way, I'm grateful on all accounts. So grateful, as a matter of fact, that this morning when I noticed the half gallon of milk I'd just purchased had leaked all over the back seat of my SUV, I didn't even curse in anticipation of the smell of sour milk that will likely follow me for years to come, a virtual reminder of the day we got lucky.

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