From there, I headed off to school with my pack of painstakingly
addressed cards; one for everyone, including the teacher, who tried
futilely all morning to maintain some semblance of order. Perhaps it was
the classroom bedecked in red that had such a stirring effect on the lot of us. Or
maybe it was the sight of those shoeboxes lined up in such great
anticipation, or the bulging book-bags holding tiny cards, or
the promise of a party and school sanctioned candy hearts.
Back then, Valentine's Day symbolized complete democracy and the ultimate in
civil rights; it was the one day of the year that all kids were treated
equally, regardless of their social or economic status the rest of the year.
Certainly the biggies like Christmas could not make this claim. When
the mailboxes were picked up and placed on our desk corners, it mattered
not who we called best friend or how many toys we had. There were cards for all, whether jock or brain or dweeb or klutz.
Then came puberty, and Valentine's Day took on a new pallor. Oh there
was still plenty of red alright, but now it was on our hormonally
unbalanced faces. If puberty equals embarrassment, then puberty plus
Valentine's Day equals embarrassment squared. Even the chocolates from
my dad were somehow tainted by the fact that I thought I was too OLD to
be getting pleasure from such a silly little gift. If my peers
knew that I still enjoyed this annual tradition, they might think I
actually liked my parents, or chocolate, or Valentine's Day itself.
The rules for life were different now. Now sentiments were dispensed selectively and
preceded by days of deliberation. While the Valentine's Days of early life
were completely democratic, pubescent observations of the day were
positively political. To like someone was one thing; to admit this was
awkward at best. If you REALLY liked someone, you pretended to hate them. How could you possibly divulge your heart's desire with a silly greeting card? It was an unkind teenage torture.
In retrospect, I know there weren't that many people actually dating in high school;
but at the time it seemed like everybody who wasn't me, was mated.
There were the obvious couples of course: those who made out by their
lockers between classes; those that didn't have to wonder about dates
for dances and Saturday nights; those who wrote their names in little
hearts on book covers and didn't worry that somebody might see. They were together at
every school function. He was always big, and she was always
small, or at least dwarfed by his frame. I wished for a fair world where
teens were matched by size, so there would always be enough tall boys to go
around. I pined for a partnership like theirs; one in which my 5'10"
frame would seem petite in his oversized letter jacket.
Valentine's Day just made my teenage longings more resolute. If I couldn't
have a boyfriend all the time, couldn't I at least have one on
Valentine's Day? Just somebody to let me wear their big, chrome ID
bracelet for one day? Someone whose ring I could wrap thick with yarn
and play with during the health class movies? I fantasized about spying
the proverbial "him" picking out my present from the "Personally
Yours" kiosk at the mall.
It's too bad it takes leaving high school to understand it.
The best years of my life they were not, and thank goodness for that
since they come about relatively early on in the game. Fortunately I was able to figure out that the hefty boyfriend was not the end all be all and that a wad of yarn on a ring can get
pretty disgusting, pretty quickly.
Later when I was living on my own, it was once again cool to
get a box of candy from my dad. I even had a renewed interest in arts
and crafts. On what other holiday can you get away with using such an
abundance of paper doilies and never have it considered overkill?
Luckily for me, I married a man who appreciates the value of a doily
laden handmade card; both as a giver and a receiver. As if this isn't
endearing enough, he also knows a great little chocolate shop
downtown that makes incredible chocolate barks.
We greet each other each Valentine's Day morning with that store's trademark
white paper bag containing chocolate bark. We have a daughter who,
although still a bit young for chocolate and handmade cards, will surely
be shown the way to both.
This Valentine's Day, if you don't have someone to make you a card or
buy you chocolate, make a card for a friend and buy yourself some
chocolate. Don't let the lack of a relationship take away from the day's pure pleasures.
