Every morning we sit in the library to have coffee, With every upcoming holiday, I create a message out of old wooden alphabet blocks, on the sill of the leaded glass window above my husband’s favorite chair, wishing us “Happy Fourth of July” or “Merry Christmas”. For the past two weeks, the message has been “Happy Valentines Day.” So, it was funny, when I told my husband that I didn’t know what to write about this week, that he said, “Why don’t you write about Valentines Day?” I had been staring right at the message without seeing it.
Valentines day used to be a big deal to me, beginning with when I was in grade school. I doubt that the tradition we followed then has made it to the 21st century. It would be too anxiety producing now, but when I was in grade school, Valentines Day was a big deal. We would make valentines out of red paper and white doilies with messages of love for our family members: mother, father or brothers and sisters. Everyone decorated a shoe box with a hole cut in the top large enough for a card. The box would be placed on top of your desk and people would slip penny valentines into the slot.
It wasn’t just a matter of looking at the cards that one received. A lot of thought, at least on my part, went into choosing the perfect valentine for my classmates. A package of thirty to forty valentines cost less than a dollar at the Dime Store. I would carefully read every card deciding which one was appropriate for each of my classmates. I wanted to make sure the sentiment reflected my thoughts concerning each of them.
Other kids may not have felt that the day was as important, but I experienced its importance every Valentines day at my house. Like most of the other families in my neighborhood, during those years after the war, we did not have a lot of resources. New shoes were a once a year event, coinciding with the beginning of the school year. My uncle would arrive with the hand-me-downs from my cousin at least once a year. Christmas resulted in one or two presents at most. On birthdays my mother would bake a cake. That was the extent of our celebrations.
But, Valentines day was special. Without fail, my father, who had not married until he was 38 years old, would stop by on his way home from work, to buy a box of Valentine chocolates for my mother. Every year, he would turn back into the love struck suitor who fell in love with his best friend’s youngest sister. He was fourteen when she was born, but I don’t think he was waiting for her to grow up during all the years he roamed throughout the country grooming prized Herefords for cattle shows. They reconnected twenty some years later and he gave up the wandering life.
I can still see him, appearing at the front door, with his hands behind his back, holding a red cellophane wrapped box of chocolates. He would slyly approach my mother, giving her a peck on the cheek and his heart tied up in red. Mother, in turn, would always giggle and say, “Oh, you shouldn’t have,” but we all knew how special it made her feel.
The boxes would remain, long after the candy was gone, used to save old letters, newspaper clippings, photos, anything of importance. They would eventually wear out to be replaced by a newer box, because as children, we loved to dig through the contents as if we could view our parents internal lives based on what they chose to save.
The old Valentine heart boxes are gone as are most of the momentoes of those days. Recently, while trying to pare down my own life’s accumulation, I came upon a valentine made by my brother, Tim, who has been gone for thirty years, as well as one of the letters my father wrote to my mother during his traveling/courting days. Generations have come and gone, but I still feel the love of my long departed family when I think of those ‘Valentine Days’.
Perhaps that’s why we need this holiday. We need to stop worrying about the love that is missing in this world and reflect on the love that we have experienced and are experiencing even now. That my husband had to remind me of the day is somewhat sad, but predictable. I guess that is what Valentines day has always been; a day for husbands, fathers, and sons to remind the women in their lives that they are still loved. I’m grateful for that even if the heart shaped boxes of chocolates have long ago passed out of fashion.