- Guilt. I still have a pile of Christmas cards I haven’t answered. Joyce has asked me if I’m going to answer them (there’s a basket full of them by the kitchen door); I’ve said that I will. (Am I a liar? Or a gifted procrastinator?)
- Nostalgia. I remember our valentine activity when I was in elementary school back in the early 1950s. Our teachers set aside time for us to write them to our classmates—all of our classmates. No exceptions.
- Guilt. Though our teachers required us to prepare cards for everyone in the class, I would always pick the ... unpleasant ... ones for kids whom I didn’t like—or who didn’t like me. Is there a valentine with a skunk on the front? That one goes to Donald McDonald (real name), a kid who beat me up on the playground one day after school.
- Nostalgia. I miss sending cards to my mom and dad—both gone now (Dad in 1999, Mom in 2018). I used to have fun, picking silly cards for them, writing silly verses to include ... They must have wondered what kind of child they had brought into the world—though by that time they surely knew. Only too well.
- Nostalgia. Back in elementary school I would examine very carefully the cards I got from the girls I liked. A skunk on the front was bad news. A heart? Could be great news!
- Nostalgia. We boys back at Adams School had multiple “girlfriends,” and we numbered them (I generally had three at a time). A shock to learn the girls were doing the same thing with us boys.
- Nostalgia. Joyce and I have often gone out to dinner on Valentine’s Day. But in recent years we have an agreement: nothing special on the day. So ... I don’t have to worry anymore about getting a skunk-card from her. (I never did—I’m just being ornery.)
- Regret. I have not saved a single valentine from boyhood. Not from my grandparents, my parents, my other relatives. What a jerk!
- Hope. I want another Valentine’s Day with Joyce. I want many of them. I want ...
Oh well ... HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY TO ALL WHO DARE VENTURE TO THIS SITE!
No comments:
Post a Comment