Valentine's Day--Blegh

When I was a child I used to love Valentine’s Day. My mother would bring home a box full of paper Valentines, which I would sort through and then decide which of the lovely lasses in my class would get the “best” ones. And in truth, when you get a Valentine they are all the best, unless someone sends out one that is particularly snarky.

But in the end they all wind up being a variant of “Be Mine, Valentine,” it’s just the pictures that are slightly different. And so I would plow through the box giving one to Cathy, and one to Joanne, and one to Mona. But always the first ones went to those special girls; the ones who could make you smile just by sitting at their desks or standing around on the playground.

In those early days before the girls started building their cliques in middle school, it was fun just to hand out the cards. For me, who believe it or not was rather shy, it was a simple matter of leaving them on the girls’ desks. Sometimes I didn’t even put my name on them.

But there were always a few special ones. Everyone had their own Denise K. or Kathy D. I am sure, and that’s how it was for me. Sure no one takes those things seriously when you’re in the fourth grade and it always seemed odd how the girls would count their cards, as if keeping score. The girl with the biggest stack was the winner, at least in terms of popularity.

Over the years I grew out of that sort of innocent sentimentality. Life and to some extent further education drove a bit of the sentimental expression out of me and out of my mind. I became more interested in understanding the idea behind love and not the idea of love itself. Valentine’s Day became relegated to the back lot of the holiday bin in my brain. And so it stayed for many years.

At that point something very odd happened. I was finishing up graduate school at Hollins University, working on an MA in English Writing. Jackie, my wife, and I had been dating for a few weeks, and for the first time in years it seemed like I might have a viable relationship that might make it past the three-week rule. Most men know that rule, three weeks with a girl and then you disappear.

It’s almost like a buffer. If you hang around more than three weeks, it’s like you have made some sort of tacit agreement to try to keep the relationship going. God knows we men don’t want to get caught up in a long-term relationship like that.

We started to date in January of 1987. At first it wasn’t too serious, she would tell you even today that she thought I was too short and might make a better boyfriend for one of her girlfriends. And that’s pretty much where we were when I left Roanoke for a couple weeks to attend, among other things, my brother’s wedding. So when I came back and we got together again we were approaching that three week point.

Now if you know Jackie, you would know that she loves all those holidays. Birthdays, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas are all hallowed days in her book. They are meant to be revered and celebrated. But over the years, like Scrooge, I had drawn away from those kinds of events, although I still like to celebrate St. Patty’s Day but that may be due to other influences.

Shortly after I got back from Florida that dreaded holiday rose up on the calendar. Valentine’s Day. To me that year it seemed more like Commitment Sunday at church. It was the day to commit. At first I wasn’t too sure if suicide was part of the equation, but I wrestled with the idea of not just whether I should get her a V-Day gift, but what it would mean if I did.

You wouldn’t think that something so simple would have that big of an impact. I had always been very blunt about things and could easily walk away from anything pretty much anytime I felt like it. And that was the choice I faced. If I chose to buy her a gift I felt that was pretty much committing to a relationship. If I didn’t, then I should just walk away and go find another pretty face in the crowd.

For a person who had lived most of his life alone, it was a tough decision. I labored over it, even right up until the hour before we were to meet that fateful day 27 years ago. Finally I figured out what I had to do and went to a nearby department store and picked up a pair of relatively cheap Teddy Bear earrings. She probably still has them.

Sure it wasn’t a diamond, but it was a symbol of my commitment. Remember, I was not a very sentimental person. I wish I knew whatever it was that drove me to make that decision, because as things turned out it was the best decision I had made in my life. I would have never thought our relationship, or for that matter any relationship involving me as a principle, would have turned out as well as this one did.

So to Jackie, Happy Valentine’s Day, and now you know the rest of the story.