I don’t much care for Valentine’s Day.
In a lifetime, we probably only have one or two Valentine’s Days that stay with us, that capture our memory, that hold the actual magic we see in the sentiments on a card.
My first came when I was 12 years old and in 7th grade. An 8th grade boy found out I thought he was cute (remember those days…good grief my son is heading straight into that territory in the next couple of years!) and he gave me this Valentine. Yes, it’s been 40 years and I still have it.
ur 2nice 2b 4 gotten. It was a tweet in the days before twitter. A text message that can’t be erased.
Even in this era of Facebook, I don’t know where he is, if he’s still alive or if he’s a millionaire or homeless. And I am quite sure I am 4 gotten.
Fast forward about 25 years. My husband bought an engagement ring intending to give it to me on Valentine’s Day. But when he got the ring, he couldn’t wait another day and asked me to marry him on Jan. 31. That Valentine’s Day was the sweetest I can remember. Engaged, in love, happy.
This Valentine’s Day, I took to the sewing machine.
When I showed it to my son, he said, “I don’t think Dad is going to appreciate that.”
“Why not?” I said, not sounding at all crushed.
He just laughed and shook his 11-year-old-almost-a-teenager head.
Like I said. I don’t much care for Valentine’s Day.