I have a complicated relationship with Valentine’s Day. The day brings a feeling of dread each year, which can probably be traced back to my high school years. In grade school things were easy, I gave and received cards from all the boys and girls in my classroom. The teachers had a rule, if you planned on giving any cards, you had to give them to everyone. The least liked child got as many cheesy heart cards as the most liked. Nobody was left out. This probably ended in third grade or so. Then we basically ignored the holiday for several years.
In high school, Valentine’s Day got harder. I was an under-the-radar sort of guy, which was fine by me. I didn’t really get bullied, but neither was I in with the cool crowd. I could never work up the nerve to ask a pretty girl to dance. The term wallflower may have been invented with me in mind.
As a freshman, I was introduced to a school tradition. A week before Valentine’s Day, one of school clubs sold single roses to be distributed on February 14th. You could send them as a secret admirer or with a note proclaiming your everlasting love. Boys sent them to girls; girls sent them to boys. I suspect some people sent them to themselves. As the school day started, Cupid’s helpers would rush through each homeroom bestowing roses. Most got one, some of the popular kids got several. If you got a dozen you were a valentine prince or princess. In four years, I never got a single rose, but neither did I ever send one. I’d just shrink at my desk, waiting for first period to start.
Almost 40 years later now, I trepedatiously open up my mailboxes, both virtual and real. Has anyone thought to wish me happiness and love today?
Wait! Nevermind me, I wish any who might read this a joyful day full of chocolates, roses, love and lust. We all deserve it.
#middleageddating #lastfirstkiss #love #aging
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