My first valentine day was first grade, the country school so small there was no kindergarten. First through eighth grades, two teachers, one of whom doubled as the principal. We were to make our own "baskets" at home so two sheets of beautiful red construction paper was sent with me after school. My mother "helped" me. She actually did all the work, carefully drawing a perfect heart shape and cutting them evenly, using almost the whole of each sheet. Then she made a series of even slits around the outside of the heart and wove a beautiful white ribbon through to hold the sides together. The ribbon was tied into an artful bow at the top and my valentine holder was complete. It was beautiful! I could not wait to take it to school the next day.
Our teacher fastened each creation on a cord in the classroom, hung low enough that first graders could reach to place our valentines in them later. Mine was far and away the most perfect heart, the largest, the most beautiful creation hanging on that cord! Every other project was either made by a classmate or their mother was no more artistic than they were! The other baskets were lopsided, clumsily cut out and sloppily pasted together. The lettering was childish and smudged or illegible. My mother's creation alone was perfect. Pristine. Red and white. So beautiful with the graceful bow of white ribbon. I was absolutely certain that mine would be chosen as the best one. When it did not win, I was crushed for my mother! How dare they not choose her spectacular artwork, so obviously better than every other one! I felt so bad about it that I did not want to tell her. I was so concerned for her feelings! Now I suppose the reason it was not chosen as the best one was because clearly I did not make it or decorate it or really have anything to do with it. But I was still so proud of it.
Remember those packages of valentines your mother would buy for you every year? I would sit at the kitchen table with my brother, going through every single valentine in that package to find the absolute perfect one for each classmate. If I did not like someone, that person got the valentine with the skunk on it. When I got the skunk valentine from someone else, I knew exactly what was going on! Sometimes the valentine itself was so stupid that I did not want to give it to anyone but in order to have a valentine for everyone I would have to use it. I would give that stupid valentine to the kid I liked the least. It was a really big deal to me to get the right valentine matched with the right kid as far as how well I liked or disliked someone! So, for people who know me now, who know I am an opinionated asshole, trust me, I was born this way. It is simply in my DNA.
Valentine's day became a lot more complicated when I began to like boys in earnest. The complications persisted through serious boyfriends and even husbands. I have been free from the tyranny of this awful holiday for many years now. I do not have to choose the perfect valentine for each friend and thank God for that. I do not have to pretend to like some guy's idea of what the perfect valentine gift is. Honestly, the best valentine and Mother's Day gifts I ever received were chrome parts for my Harley! Now THAT was the way to my heart!
For all the people who are suffering through the surprises and disappointments of this celebrated, expensive day of "love", best of luck to you. I am out!
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