I was raised in a superstitious home. Black cats, walking under ladders, Friday the 13th — my family taught me that these things posed a serious threat to my well-being. But rather than adding magic to my life, my belief in these delusions made for a paranoiac early childhood. “Step on a crack, break your mother’s back” taken literally can produce panic and ulcers. Fortunately, by the time I was seven, I was questioning the legitimacy of bad luck and good.