When I was little, Valentine’s were cards you gave to all of your classmates. We decorated shoe boxes and left them on our desks. Everyone had a box. It wasn’t supposed to be a competition, but even when I was little, it felt like others must have gotten more cards. Better cards.
Someone’s mom brought cupcakes and we had a little party. For Valentine’s day. I liked the cupcakes.
As I got older, valentine giving was only supposed to be for ‘sweethearts’. Too bad, I made my own. Lopsided and very repititious, all in red and white, for people who I appreciated. For Florence, neighbor who always had cookies and loved to listen to my chatter. For Mrs. Dermit, whose family used to farm the land on which our bit of suburbia was built. For my mom’s best friends, who were like aunts for me. For that boy I liked, but couldn’t say so (too scary!). For my family, as messy as they come.
And later yet, I just skipped Valentine’s Day. It didn’t speak to me. I would bake something and give it away if I had too many emotions to deal with, thank you very much.
When I met my Love, it was a revelation. Someone who thought of ME on February 14th. But strangely, his mom did too. Hmm.
We often celebrate by not celebrating. Just by being together. This year is no different. And that’s my joy.
Love, February