I have always believed that we are all unique. Apparently, I was wrong.

Consider Jim Lewis and Jim Springer, identical twins born in Ohio in 1939, separated at three weeks old and raised by different families. They did not know each other existed. They had no shared childhood, no secret twin telepathy, no opportunity to copy each other’s homework. And yet, somehow, they spent the next 39 years doing almost exactly the same things.

First, both adoptive families named them Jim. Already, I’m thinking the universe could have tried a little harder.

The boys grew up about 40 miles apart. Both had adoptive brothers named Larry. Both had dogs named Toy. Both liked mathematics and woodworking, disliked spelling, bit their fingernails and suffered from migraines.

Then they became adults and things got downright weird. Both went into law enforcement. Both drove Chevrolets. Both smoked Salem cigarettes. Both enjoyed carpentry and mechanical drawing. And both married women named Linda. But the Jims weren’t finished. Both divorced their Lindas and later married women named Betty. At this point, I would have started looking for hidden cameras.

Then came the children. Each had a firstborn son. Jim Lewis named his son James Alan. Jim Springer named his James Allan. The only difference was one letter. Apparently, even their children were reluctant to stray too far from the family template.

The twins even vacationed on the same three-block stretch of beach near St. Petersburg, Florida. Imagine them sitting under their respective beach umbrellas, both thinking, “I really like this place.” Meanwhile, 39 years later, one Jim finally decided to find his twin.

In 1979, they spoke on the telephone for the first time. “Are you my brother?” “Yep.”

I love this exchange. After 39 years of mystery, you might expect something more dramatic. A gasp. A scream. Perhaps, “OH MY GOD, JIM, IT’S YOU!” Nope. Yep.

Four days later they met. Then came the inevitable interrogation.

“You married a Linda?”

“Yep.”

“Divorced her?”

“Yep.”

“Married a Betty?”

“Yep.”

“Your son’s name is James?”

“Yep.”

“Drive a Chevy?”

“Yep.”

“Smoke Salems?”

“Yep.”

At some point, I imagine one of them saying, “Do you also have a drawer full of batteries you’re convinced you’ll need someday?”

The reunion attracted the attention of psychologists, who were fascinated by the possibility that genetics might influence personality, preferences and behavior even when identical twins were raised apart. The twins were brought to the University of Minnesota for extensive testing. Their personalities, abilities, physical characteristics and even some of their mannerisms turned out to be remarkably similar. And then the researchers discovered something I find particularly comforting. Other separated twins had similarities, too.

One pair of women arrived at a reunion wearing astonishingly similar amounts of jewelry: seven rings, three bracelets and a watch each. This raises an important scientific question. Was that genetics? Or were both women simply thinking, “I’m finally meeting my long-lost twin. I should probably dress up?”

The Minnesota research eventually involved 137 pairs of identical twins raised apart and became one of the most influential studies of its kind. Scientists concluded that genetics clearly influences who we are, but environment matters, too. Which seems reasonable. Genes may determine that you bite your nails, marry a Linda and drive a Chevy. But apparently, they don’t determine whether you remember where you parked it.

The Jim twins remind us that we may have less control over ourselves than we like to think. Somewhere between nature and nurture lies the mysterious territory of coincidence, where two men can be born in the same place, separated at three weeks old, and somehow spend 39 years choosing the same names, cars, careers, wives and vacation spots.

Maybe we are not as unique as we imagine. Or maybe the universe just has a very strange sense of humor.