I’m not a big fan of this Valentine’s Day thing
By Scott Simpson
It may have something to do with its compulsory nature. I do know that one way or another, this contrived holiday has always been costly.
My earliest recollection of the annual event dates back to first grade. Our teacher instructed all of us wide-eyed little darlings to come to class on February 13 armed with an empty shoe box. It was to be transformed into an appropriate receptacle for everyone’s mandatory card to each classmate. A competition would determine the best one.
With my extensive baseball card collection now carefully hidden in a brown paper bag in the corner of my closet, I headed off to catch the school bus with the required shoe box in hand. The secret brown paper repository for my baseball cards was a good one, holding up for 11 years until three days after I departed for college when my mother decided to clean my room and throw out everything not properly boxed for safekeeping. Today’s value of my baseball card collection rotting in some landfill? More than $100,000.
We spent most of that afternoon long ago hard at work using colored construction paper, crayons and glue decorating our shoe boxes. At the anointed hour, the decorated boxes were all lined up on the top of the bookshelves by the windows. My teacher gasped giddily as she slowly moved down the line, absolutely delighted with the romantic flowers, hearts and cupids adorning each one.
She stopped when she came to mine. She sighed deeply, shaking her head as she sent a classmate to summon the principal. I was ecstatic, supremely confident that my replica of the Roach Hotel in the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink at home was going to capture the day. Authentic in every detail, I had even thoughtfully included a large lump of Elmer’s Glue in the center of the interior to serve as the extermination bait.
My prize? I got to spend the balance of that afternoon in the school psychologist’s office sharing my interpretation of inkblots that she flashed at me. I did so well that I earned two hours each week with her for the rest of the school year.
I know a lot of people who ignore various holidays for a variety of reasons. Valentine’s Day had better not be one of them, not if you share your life with a significant other. During our last year together my ex-wife thoughtfully declared that, “with money being tight at the time, we should just spend the day as we otherwise would.”
I thought she meant it.
That year the holiday fell on a Saturday. That’s the day I usually played golf in Arizona. An afternoon tee time was followed by all of us liberated guys enjoying ourselves in the clubhouse bar. I headed home about 9pm. Okay, it might have been later.
As I drove up to the house, I was surprised to see what looked like a large heap of clothes in the front yard, with a smaller pile next to the sidewalk. Parking in the driveway, I went over to inspect what I thought to be a prank pulled by the neighborhood youngsters.
Not exactly. The large heap was all of my altered sports coats and suit jackets. The smaller pile was the sleeves from each of them, carefully cut off at the elbow.
I doubt if short-sleeved sports coats will ever come into vogue, especially now that I’m living here in Wyoming. But if they do, I’m prepared.
I’m also prepared to never ignore another Valentine’s Day again, no matter what is said.
Scott Simpson is a writer now living in Jelm.
