My best big Scot Valentine and Piper
Valentine’s Day, like every Hallmark Day, is easy to disparage for all sorts of reasons. Simply that it has been so commercialized. That red hearts and cupids have been pasted on everything from cookies and chocolates to sweatshirts and underpants is enough to put you off the celebration. While I get over my distaste for the schmaltz I succumb and happily wish my sweetie “Happy Valentine’s Day.” I eat chocolates and enjoy flowers, if he remembers.
Not to be a downer but Valentine’s Day is forever etched in my memory as a day to remember the people without a sweetie or chocolates or flowers. Thanks to Mrs. Tomlinson.
She was my grade 3 teacher. For Valentine’s Day we made two large hearts and stapled them partly together making a folder. We decorated the front with our names in bold letters so they could be seen from our desks. Mrs. Tomlinson hung our art pieces in a row under the chalkboard, like Christmas stockings.
What was meant to be joyful turned out to be deeply uncomfortable.
As each student brought their Valentines cards to class they put them in the folders. This was long before mothers insisted that their kids brought cards for the whole class. We were selective. Our cards were only for our friends. People we wanted to be our friends. And people we didn’t want not to be our friends.
Everyone watched as each kid put their cards in the heart pockets. Some kids proudly announced who were the lucky ones to receive their cards. We watched certain kid’s pockets bulge. We watched other kid’s pockets remain almost empty.
And then…the much anticipated moment…we got to go up and retrieve our heart pockets. We were given time to spread the cards on our desks and read the names of the senders. We read the captions and searched for hidden meanings. Did “Be my best Valentine” mean I was her best friend? Even better than Julie?
I remember everyone counting their cards and the bravado of the ones with the most. Mrs. Tomlinson presided over the fun. She had brought heart shaped cookies with sprinkles for us all. And a card…making sure everyone had at least one card.
I was the kind of kid who got a decent number of cards. My heart pocket wasn’t bulging but nor was it empty. I was also the kind of kid who could not enjoy my stash when I could see that there were several humiliated kids who were trying to hide their one or two cards.
That Valentine’s Day was doubly uncomfortable for me because no one got a card from me. In spite of my pleading, my mother would not allow me to give out Valentines cards. I got a firm “No. We don’t join in on worldly celebrations.” It was against our religion.
As the kids, especially my friends, opened each card I cringed hoping they wouldn’t notice. They did. Of course they did.
I remember telling them “We don’t believe in Valentine’s Day.” It didn’t make sense to them. It didn’t make sense to me either. But there it was.
My memory of that day in Mrs. Tomlinson’s class is crystal clear. I also have a fuzzy memory that there was a Valentine’s Day later on when I did buy a plastic bag full of cards and give them out in class. Maybe grade 4 or 5. I’m thinking my mother relented. Maybe it was part of our religion that wasn’t etched in stone. Or maybe my sad story of my worst Valentine’s Day ever, softened her stance. But I find it odd that I can’t really remember.