When you were growing up, did your family have any secret little coincidences, inside jokes that no one else would get?
We had 222.
My parents seemed to stumble upon that number in one way or another over and over again, whether on license plates or in phone numbers.
For example, years ago when Mary and I and our four young kids moved to a new apartment in Dunkirk, N.Y., I was shocked to realize the address.
222 Townsend Street. Apartment 2.
When I told my mom, there was a stunned pause. Then, “No sir.” I think she still doesn’t quite believe me.
So today, as my brother Jeff marvels at the birth of his new baby girl, he watches the doctor write the time.
Jeff asks, “Did you just write 14:22?”
Yes. 2:22 p.m.
Welcome to the family, little Nora. You certainly are a Swerens.
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