EXTRA SPECIAL VALENTINES
"A loving heart is the truest wisdom."
- Charles Dickens
HEART IN A VALENTINE
I have often written about what a tomboy I was in my younger years. But when a girl went to school in those days, you had to discard the jeans for dresses. My daddy was the sole support of a growing family so there was a lot of “make-do” with what we had and what we wore. Mama was a beautiful seamstress and I always looked clean and neat in her creations but…they were still handmade. I was made fun of from day one for those feed-sack dresses I sometimes wore to school. And I had tons of freckles. I was tall and gangly. Plus I was bored in school and became the class clown, often in trouble for it. All, or any one of those things, meant that I was not the most popular kid in class.
That was brought home to me clearly on Valentine’s Day of the first grade. Mrs. Gregory had created the most beautiful box we had ever seen—pink and white crepe paper twisted into frills surrounded the box and top, with bright red hearts scattered here and there all around. In those days, we made most of our cards at home or at school. I made sure I created one for every member of my class and proudly slipped them into the slot on top. On Valentine’s Day I expected to carry home a paper sack filled with cards. I received five cards. There were no antics that day in school and the usually bubbly child arrived home in tears she didn’t want her classmates to see.
Of course, I got over it. I never said a word about the lack of cards and went on my merry way. The next year, however, I told Mama I wasn’t giving any cards. She set me straight about that—she reminded me that if I skipped even one, that child might end up the same way I had the year before. So, probably with little heart in it, I made my cards and put them in the box. And, though I don’t remember, I probably hoped in my child’s heart that this Valentine’s would be different.
It was certainly different. Mrs. Holloway, the second grade teacher, opened the lid of that box and began to call names. It seemed that every other card had my name on it. The other kids began to squirm in their seats and look at me with surprise. I hit the jackpot. I couldn’t open the cards fast enough. Why, I even had a card signed by…Jesus!
Years later, when I had long gotten over the slights of classmates and was surrounded by friends who didn’t care that Mama still made my large wardrobe (not out of feed sacks any longer though), the truth was told. On that first Valentine’s Day, Mama had hugged me and dried my tears, telling me that I was a sweetheart to her and Daddy. In her heart, she vowed this hurt would not be repeated. She made cards, her friends purchased cards, even Reverend Rose posed as Jesus to sign a card. Mama had stuffed the box!
PAPER HEARTS
One February many years ago, my husband and I were in the process of having a new home built. As usually happens, the length of construction had grown and the cost was slowly eating up our excess cash. Most of our furniture was in storage while we occupied a tiny apartment, attempting to weather the cold winter and survive the disappearing money. Thus, we made a pact.
We agreed we had no money and no room for frivolous gifts for Valentines. We had been married long enough that we didn’t need lacy reminders of our commitment to each other or the love we shared. It was decided we would not commemorate the occasion.
I, the overly sentimental you’ve-got-to-give-a-card-for-every-occasion gal, stuck my hands in my pocket each time I passed the rows of cards at the store. I wouldn’t allow myself to trip down the candy aisle for fear I would succumb to the urge to purchase one of those sweet-filled hearts to place on hubby’s pillow on February 14th. I prided myself on being strong.
Valentine’s Day dawned cold and rather gloomy. I was the first up that morning and slipped down the stairs and through the darkened living room to turn on the coffeepot. Coffee dripping and cinnamon rolls baking, I switched on the light in the tiny dining area between the kitchen and living room. That’s when I found the first one.
A bright red heart, cut out of notebook paper and painted with a marker, sat at my usual place at the table. Smaller ones were scattered over the rest of the surface. A trail of hearts led me to the coffee table, across the sofa, onto the recliner. They stopped on my chair with a big one. “I Love You” was printed in its center.
After all of these years I can still remember the tears of joy I felt on that Valentine’s Day when my dear husband, usually the one to forego symbols of love, made that day one I will always cherish.
HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY TO ALL!
- Charles Dickens
HEART IN A VALENTINE
I have often written about what a tomboy I was in my younger years. But when a girl went to school in those days, you had to discard the jeans for dresses. My daddy was the sole support of a growing family so there was a lot of “make-do” with what we had and what we wore. Mama was a beautiful seamstress and I always looked clean and neat in her creations but…they were still handmade. I was made fun of from day one for those feed-sack dresses I sometimes wore to school. And I had tons of freckles. I was tall and gangly. Plus I was bored in school and became the class clown, often in trouble for it. All, or any one of those things, meant that I was not the most popular kid in class.
That was brought home to me clearly on Valentine’s Day of the first grade. Mrs. Gregory had created the most beautiful box we had ever seen—pink and white crepe paper twisted into frills surrounded the box and top, with bright red hearts scattered here and there all around. In those days, we made most of our cards at home or at school. I made sure I created one for every member of my class and proudly slipped them into the slot on top. On Valentine’s Day I expected to carry home a paper sack filled with cards. I received five cards. There were no antics that day in school and the usually bubbly child arrived home in tears she didn’t want her classmates to see.
Of course, I got over it. I never said a word about the lack of cards and went on my merry way. The next year, however, I told Mama I wasn’t giving any cards. She set me straight about that—she reminded me that if I skipped even one, that child might end up the same way I had the year before. So, probably with little heart in it, I made my cards and put them in the box. And, though I don’t remember, I probably hoped in my child’s heart that this Valentine’s would be different.
It was certainly different. Mrs. Holloway, the second grade teacher, opened the lid of that box and began to call names. It seemed that every other card had my name on it. The other kids began to squirm in their seats and look at me with surprise. I hit the jackpot. I couldn’t open the cards fast enough. Why, I even had a card signed by…Jesus!
Years later, when I had long gotten over the slights of classmates and was surrounded by friends who didn’t care that Mama still made my large wardrobe (not out of feed sacks any longer though), the truth was told. On that first Valentine’s Day, Mama had hugged me and dried my tears, telling me that I was a sweetheart to her and Daddy. In her heart, she vowed this hurt would not be repeated. She made cards, her friends purchased cards, even Reverend Rose posed as Jesus to sign a card. Mama had stuffed the box!
PAPER HEARTS
One February many years ago, my husband and I were in the process of having a new home built. As usually happens, the length of construction had grown and the cost was slowly eating up our excess cash. Most of our furniture was in storage while we occupied a tiny apartment, attempting to weather the cold winter and survive the disappearing money. Thus, we made a pact.
We agreed we had no money and no room for frivolous gifts for Valentines. We had been married long enough that we didn’t need lacy reminders of our commitment to each other or the love we shared. It was decided we would not commemorate the occasion.
I, the overly sentimental you’ve-got-to-give-a-card-for-every-occasion gal, stuck my hands in my pocket each time I passed the rows of cards at the store. I wouldn’t allow myself to trip down the candy aisle for fear I would succumb to the urge to purchase one of those sweet-filled hearts to place on hubby’s pillow on February 14th. I prided myself on being strong.
Valentine’s Day dawned cold and rather gloomy. I was the first up that morning and slipped down the stairs and through the darkened living room to turn on the coffeepot. Coffee dripping and cinnamon rolls baking, I switched on the light in the tiny dining area between the kitchen and living room. That’s when I found the first one.
A bright red heart, cut out of notebook paper and painted with a marker, sat at my usual place at the table. Smaller ones were scattered over the rest of the surface. A trail of hearts led me to the coffee table, across the sofa, onto the recliner. They stopped on my chair with a big one. “I Love You” was printed in its center.
After all of these years I can still remember the tears of joy I felt on that Valentine’s Day when my dear husband, usually the one to forego symbols of love, made that day one I will always cherish.
HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY TO ALL!
posted by Barb | 9:21 PM
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