It is that time of year when we are reminded that February
14 is designated as the day for romance
and lovers. As a young girl, Valentine’s Day was about buying those fun cards,
making a Valentine box, and having a class party. I remember carefully
selecting the box of premade cards that were the standard practice of the day.
Once home, I would open the box, go through the delightful task of sorting them
into piles, and then carefully assigning which card would be given to each classmate.
It was not a chore but an anticipated annual event. But with this, are perhaps some
of my first vulnerable memories. I didn’t know how to risk sharing a sentiment
that might be construed as too personal or overtly flirtatious. And what was
appropriate to give to those whom I didn’t know that well? I identified with
wanting to be told I mattered, and I wanted to let others know they mattered,
too.
The sweetness of childhood and classroom parties turned to
awkwardness in adolescence. I remember my 7th grade Valentine Dance
and the thought of the likelihood of my first real kiss. The first tests of
romance and expressing real or imagined love happened during those years. I sought
to belong, to love, and be loved. It wasn’t
just about boyfriends and romance. It included those friendships where I could
truly feel the acceptance of a community of friends. Maneuvering through those
tough years included sharing our experiences of not only Valentine dances and
occasional boyfriends, but the ups and downs of discovering our sexuality and what
that meant.
At 17 when Valentine’s Day came around, I was dating a 22-year
old student from Saudi Arabia. We hadn’t been dating long, but he tried to fulfill
his romantic obligation of the romantic gesture within the cultural norms as he
understood them. So he game me flowers and jewelry. The flowers were silk and
the jewelry was a crucifix. Neither one fit into my thoughts of an ideal
Valentine gift. I could accept the
sentiment as his desire to express his intentions of my being special, but I
felt guilty for wanting real flowers and a necklace I would wear. As I reflect
on this today, I think how this scenario plays out in a lot of relationships.
There is one’s expectation, and another’s aim at meeting it. Dealing with the tension of perhaps not
obtaining those goals is the rub, isn’t it?
I likely learned the expectation lesson early in my marriage
because interestingly enough, I have mostly pleasant memories of Valentine’s
Day with Tony. He was very dependable on acknowledging the significance of the
day with flowers and a card, taking care in expressing an appropriate
sentiment. There wasn’t a lot of romance and I don’t have any over-the-top
memories as a couple but I was definitely remembered, and I knew I was loved. I
also had someone that I remembered and for whom I expressed my love.
Tony and I chose to make the celebration a family holiday by
including Will and later my parents. I have wonderful memories of Will giving cards
with his expressions of love. I hold onto these and realize that Tony is not
only a part of them but a big reason in how they became so special. He modeled
and trained Will about the importance of showing our love for another.
So I’m not sure how I will feel this Valentine’s Day. I am a
little ambivalent about what I may make of the day. I could wake up on the 14th
and be sad because I know I won’t be that someone’s special Valentine. I have
been that for a lot of years, even through the worst of times in our marriage. Or
I just may wake up and feel joy because I am a lot of people’s Valentine. I hope
I will choose the latter. It takes me back to my youth when a kind expression and
some candy hearts was all I needed. We were all each other’s Valentines and that
was enough, for collectively we shared in the joy of being special. And I got
to make a pretty box to boot.
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