In my innocence, that might be read, say, kindergarten, I loved everyone equally. It was a beautiful thing. We would celebrate by stuffing each other's hand-decorated shoe boxes with hand-crafted cards, then we would stuff our faces with goodies brought in by someone's mother. It did not matter what the cards said, for we could neither read, nor write.
When the skill of self-expression came to me, I was King of Hearts for a day. I could express myself with anonymity and zeal. No matter how unapproachable girls were, no matter what chasm of social class separated us, on that one day, they were helplessly, whole-heartedly mine, at least until they learned who I was. I stuffed their desks at recess, then spent the day reveling in their swooning and cooing over my cards. Unfortunately, my desk typically hosted lint balls and unspent pencils, even at the end of the day. This was the era of my "check yes or no," Valentine, and to me, no response at all was an even more damning reply.
Some schools have banned the practice of exchanging Valentine's cards for varied reasons. One claim is that the practice is inconsiderate of some people's faith. It is also argued by some that not all kids can afford to buy cards and candies, so it just isn't fair. Others, likely administrators who had the empty desk like me, condemn the ballot box popularity contest of Valentine's: "We don't want anyone going home broken hearted."
I am no policy maker, but I can offer a warning. Unrequited love can drive one to madness. In my quest for Valentine validation, I become a love junkie. I had to have it, had to get it, win it, make it. For years, Valentine's day was more than a celebration to me, it was a call to action.
There was no extreme, no boundary I would not cross. In seventh grade, for example, though I had never spoken to her, I determined Reletta Meeks was my One True Love. I skipped class seventh hour to buy her a dozen fresh roses (and where I come from, plant life of any kind is rare, so those roses came at a premium—around $45 in 1970's currency). I bought her a silver locket (another $50), and I even had it engraved with the anthem of the day, "I think I love you," Partridge Family lyrics sure to melt her heart. How did I, in middle school, afford such extravangces? I sold my comic books and pop bottles…all of them.
Things only escalated from there. The worst was likely the triple threat Valentine's day, in college, when I also learned of entropy. I was in a long distance relationship, fueling the fire with irresistible love letters. I was dating two girls on opposite sides of the city, from very different walks of life, certain they would never cross paths. And..I was still practicing the anonymous "enamortization" of the women of the world, at this time by sending loving praises to those I deemed typically unflattered by others. In simple terms: I sent Valentines to ugly people, hoping they would walk with a spring in their step, thinking I was doling out good vibrations.
On that particular Valentine's Day, I had the long distance love at arm's length, and I had the two local girls scheduled on either side of the actual Valentine's Day itself. Instead, and this baffles me even to this day, I scheduled a nice dinner with the spouse of a friend who was in Desert Storm (with his permission, even giving his wife a gift he had directed me to issue her in his stead). In my mind at the time, I thought I was being an ambassador of amore. I did not even foresee the potential of misrepresentation until it was on top of me.
One of the Unflattered was a research librarian and a pretty good sleuth. She happened to track me down with her own gushing confessional just as I was excusing myself from the company of local girl #1, late to pick up the soldier's wife. The confessional turned confrontational. The dinner with the soldier's wife was interrupted when a waitress-friend of local girl #2 berated me in public. Returning to my apartment, my head spinning already, I had no idea what I was in for. My long distance love, who had not only crossed Kansas but also my boundaries by letting herself in, was perched on my couch, by the telephone. She was dressed to kill, but was more in the mood for murder than a night out. She punctuated our last argument frequently by playing incriminating voice mails over and over.
Yes, I had been a jerk. My knee jerk reaction to the above, however, made me even more the fool. Like goths who populate our schools now, I went into a melancholy beyond measure. For years, I blacked out the holiday, boycotted it entirely. The mention of it would raise a bile in my stomach and curt curse words from my lips. Love was not to be had on a holiday, not to be earned with scraps of paper and commercial appeals. So dark were my thoughts on Valentine's Day, I came to chide those who did participate. I scoffed at everyone buying flowers and chocolates. I was the Grinch of Valentine's Day…and my mailbox went as empty as my heart.
I can attribute some my behavior to grade school valentine exchanges, and if the practice creates more monsters like I was, then I am all for taking it out of schools. If only it could be so kind and democratic as it was in kindergarten, all our lives…then I would say make every day Valentine's Day!
Thanks to time and reason, I now have the love of my life. Perspective has taught me that love is not manufactured nor purchased. There is no gimmickry nor infatuation fueling it. True love, for me, was a surprise. It popped up when I was not pursuing it. It blooms in her every gesture. It is amplified in the unconditional love radiating from our children. This love thing comes from thin air, not a greeting card. It becomes tangible over a home cooked meal, which is more tasty than anything in a heart-shaped box.
