Well, I strongly believe there are no such thing as ghosts (although I won't deny that there might be unexplained energy floating around out there) and that superstitions are just that.

But I have to admit that I'm still hesitant to kill a spider, break a mirror, or continue down a path that a black cat has crossed. I wouldn't say that I'm superstitious -- more that I don't want to take any chances.

Yet, Friday the 13th has always been a rather quiet day for me. While everyone else is being extra careful about everything they do, I just go about mine normally. Sure, I can see where people are more aware of bad things happening to them on a memorable day like this -- it's just that my unlucky day is truly unlucky, and it's on my birthday.

Well, maybe not on my birthday anymore. But as a kid, I would almost dread my birthday. Not because I was one year older, but because I was worried about what life would throw at me next.

I think it all started when I was turning 6 years old. For my birthday, my family was planning a trip to Pittsburgh, which may not sound too exciting unless you're 6 and you rarely ever get to go because it's three hours away. That morning, I waited until everyone else was done in the bathroom, and I went in to take a shower.

I had just turned on the water, and turned around to grab the soap. When I did that, I slipped. Luckily, at that age, we're not very tall, so the fall isn't very great. Except there was a little spot on the back of the tub where you could sit down if you wanted. Well, I hit my chin on it, and it ripped it right open. I always wanted a cleft chin like Jonathan Frakes, but the scar is going in the wrong direction.

A few years later, on my birthday, I was getting my bicycle off the porch. Just so you know, the house I grew up in was about 100 years old, even back then, and the porch seemed just as old. I was walking my bike down the old concrete steps when I slipped, hitting the sidewalk below.

I tore a gash into my elbow, a really ugly one. My dad wanted to take me to the hospital to get stitches, but I was a wuss, and begged and pleaded for him to not make me get stitches. My dad, always trying to make sure his kids were happy, complied, and tried some at-home remedies to help heal the scar. Instead, I get to wear long sleeves for life.

I can really go on for hours about my birthday luck. In fact, many of the scars you might find on me -- chances are, they originated with a birthday. My older brother hitting me in the head with a hammer. Me stepping on a nail that went deep into my foot (and flattened my brand new Air Jordans).

But once I turned 18, all of that seemed to go away. Or I just stopped noticing what day it was when bad things would happen to me. And really, that's what Friday the 13th is all about. It's not that you're any more unlucky today than you are any other day. You're just more aware of the unlucky things because of the mythology surrounding a day like today.

So take a deep breath. Follow the black cat. Step on a few spiders. And in the ultimate show of confidence, punch a few mirrors. The world is not going to end (that won't happen until December), you are not going to have years of bad luck, and Groundhog Phil will still see his shadow.

Just think of today as simply ... Friday. And make sure you tune in to "Fringe" tonight. It'll make you feel better.