…….I dislike Valentine’s Day. I was going to tell you I hate Valentine’s Day, but I reserve that extreme emotion for something that is relevant. Valentine’s Day is irrelevant in today’s world. WE don’t need a day to express our feelings to someone, but Hallmark, florists, candy makers, even jewelry stores count on the day for profits during a slow time of the year.
…….I didn’t start off hating Valentines Day. The trauma that turned me into a hater happened when I was 11. Just at the age when other girls were launching into puberty, I discovered a day…..a stupid day ….could impact my self -esteem for years, even decades..
…..Until I was 11 I tolerated the day well. In my perfect, insulated life, my Mom always got flowers (this was pre-divorce) and I got candy and hearts and the things little girls like. But little girls grow up and are faced with reality. At 11, I was on the cusp of growing into a teenager.
…… My self-esteem was at an all-time low already in 6th grade. I already knew I didn’t fit in and lacked the enthusiasm and skill to undertake even the simplest social task. Take square dancing. Why we had to learn to square dance in sixth grade is beyond me. It was a skill whose time had passed and odds were it wasn’t going to return anytime soon. First of all, I didn’t have the hair for it. While all my girlfriends had straight hair and long ponytails that would swing whether they were allemanding right or left, my hair was in a tightly curled permanent with no hope of every growing out let alone swinging to and fro in time with the music. Others wore full dresses with crinolines that would swing up when they do-si-doed I not only didn’t have a crinoline, I had a partner who knocked my cat eyed glasses with rhinestones off when we do-si-doed (As I heard them crunch under my feet, my inability to see clearly meant I became discombobulated .and I was wondering around the circle bumping into my classmates as my partner crawled around in the circle picking up what remained of my glasses. ) My teacher sat me down and suggested maybe square dancing wasn’t for me and I should sit out the rest of the classes. That made me very popular among my peers and drove home the point that I was a loser of epic proportions.
…..But did that do me in? No. Always the optimist, it wasn’t until February rolled round that I admitted defeat. The dreaded Valentines Day when some sadistic teacher thought it would be fun to have a contest to see who got the most valentines and the winner would become the Valentine king and queen. Those two exalted kids would be crowned with cardboard crowns and enjoy the adulation of all who cast their vote (excuse me, valentine, for them.)
…….I was not pretty. I was not popular. I had all the parts in place but they were all going in opposite directions. But, in some fantasy I saw myself as Valentine Queen with that cardboard crown on my head.
…….I didn’t know much about how to make friends. I knew you smiled, but I avoided smiling due to a front tooth mishap (another story.) I knew you talked a lot about hair (really what could I say about my perm) and you were part of a group (that wasn’t going to happen).
…….But, I knew about elections. Even at that tender age, I was savvy about elections. You worked hard and you won elections. That was what our family did and I could relate to that. We all made Valentine Boxes with our name on them and a slit on top where our admirers could drop our valentines. It wasn’t like today where you gave valentines to everyone. No, this was serious mean girl stuff. …
……..No election eve could have brought anxiety like Valentines Day in 6th grade as I watched kids take their stroll around the valentine boxes. (Look, he slowed down at mine, nooooo, he dropped the valentines in the next box.)
………At the end of day, the Valentines boxes were opened and the Valentines counted. The girl and boy who got the most were named king and queen and cardboard crowns were placed upon their heads That year it was Terri Manypenny Delong and Terry Staley. The teacher returned our boxes to us so I could go home and burn mine. At that point, I thought I could sink no lower. But it got worse. When I opened the box I found a paltry number of valentines. Probably the kids who felt sorry for me or worse yet my dad had paid them to give me a Valentine (I didn’t have any confidence but I did have an active imagination)
……I couldn’t blame my family. Sister, Marsha, was president of her class and student council. Did I mention she was also on the Homecoming Court and she and her boyfriend, Bill Webster, were named cutest couple. Not to mention she was sincerely nice to people.
…….Not her baby sister. I remember holding my box tightly on the school bus and waiting til I got home to throw the box on the floor to stomp on it when I got a better idea.. As I searched through my Mom’s Lucky Strikes searching for a match to burn the box. my mother came upon me. She gently asked how it had gone and like any pre-teen I turned my ire towards the person who deserved it least. “This is all your fault. You and your ******* permanents and ugly glasses make me look……silly.” She looked me over and in that moment I think she got it cause the permanents stopped, I got glasses like the other kids and then contacts and I came out of my shell.
……..My sister always said that I entered politics to ride in a convertible and be in a parade. Since I never made the homecoming court like Marsha, I had to take the hard route. But, I knew that wasn’t the case. It was my first election that I lost in sixth grade that spurred me on. When my mother took the matches from me she told me I needed to work on my attitude and stop with the sarcastic remarks. I needed to make friends. So, I made a list, not of the kids who sent me Valentines, but of the ones who didn’t and from that list one by one I made friends. We didn’t do the Valentines election the next year, but I had learned a valuable lesson that would serve me in elections to come
