Today the banks are closed all over the nation and streets in far cities are a-flutter with flags. To most of you it is just Columbus day; but to us it is a wedding anniversary. Thirteen years ago, on a magnificent day in the most magnificent time of year, we began our life together. And even as that very day contained both sunshine and rain, so our succeeding years have alternated between joy and sorrow. Joy has strongly predominated, with just enough shadow for contrast. There is an ancient superstition against the number 13; for years it has been accounted unlucky. But we have never had a finer or more satisfying year, and the climax of all was the arrival of little Joseph, the 13th living grandchild in the notoriously fickle and ill-starred month of April. Maybe you think it was hard luck that he wasn't a girl, a little sister, a partner for Margie Ruth; but no! A boy is just exactly what suits us best!
Perhaps 13 gained its reputation from the fact that it is the largest integral number, indivisible by anything except itself and one. This first 13 years is a cycle in itself; an epoch. It has been a time of the gathering and blending of the days of character, and the modeling of the first rough pattern of the vase of life. May we, in the next 13 years, be given grace to mold and polish and refine that vase into a thing of strength and beauty, before the stuff permanently hardens, and our work is done. --Hope