My Valentine Box

In honor of Valentine's Day, I'm replacing my Telling Tuesday post with a Valentine post, to "show and tell" about one of my favorite memories of one of my favorite holidays.

Do you remember making Valentine's boxes?

In elementary school, I looked forward to the event for weeks. I honestly can't say if I looked forward more to decorating my shoe box or to the Valentine's that I hoped would fill it. Of course, there was always that one special Valentine I hoped for, too.

Weeks before the big day, my mom would take me to Wonder World (that was Fairfield's answer to Walmart back in the day,) and I would peruse the aisles, looking for red construction paper, doilies, aluminum paper, crayons, glue . . . whatever I could possibly think of to make my box the prettiest box in the classroom.

I'm sure the boys thought it was stupid, but some managed to make a box even a cootie-vaccinated boy (as evidenced by "C.V." marked on his hand) could be proud of.



Valentine's morning, I carefully packed my box in a brown shopping bag and carried it to school. Once inside the classroom, my heart beat with anticipation, and my hands trembled as I drew it out of its hiding place for its grand debut. I just knew mine would be the most beautiful, not only in the classroom, but surely in the entire school . . . heck, in the whole universe.

Of course, when Sally Smith put hers on her desk, I could tell she thought the same thing. Hmph. No way.

The next best part of the day was passing out Valentine's. Like I said, there was always one special person in the classroom for whom I'd saved my very best Valentine, and from whom I hoped to receive one, too.

Oh, of course, all those store-bought Valentines were all pretty much the same, but there was always one or two that had a secret code to let someone know they were more special than the rest. ("Strike up a match?" Now, you couldn't get more "special" than that.)

And what about "Popping the question?" Yep, that was a secret code, all right.




After all the cards were passed out, after we'd had our cupcakes and our tongues were red with icing dye, after the last bell of the day rang, I ran home. Inside the brown paper bag I carried, my full box rattled with Valentine's, and my heart raced faster than my feet, in my rush home to open my cards.

I tore open each envelope, scanned the card and read each name.

"Nope. Nope," I said, then tossed the card aside and reached for another. "Nope." My hopes began to fade. Had he not even given me a card, even one without a secret code?

Then, there it was:

To: Janice

From: Your Secret Admirer

"I just want to be your Valentine." Was that not the sweetest thing anyone could ever say?

Even if Sally Smith did win the Valentine Box Contest, I was the one with a Secret Admirer.

Do you have a favorite Valentine's memory? Hope you'll share it in my virtual Valentine's Box.

My Worst Valentine's Day Ever

I was watching CNN this morning, and one of the "on-the-street" questions asked was "What's the worst Valentine's Day gift you've ever given?" Some of the answers were pretty funny - like the man who answered, "a toaster."

I tried to think of the worst gift I'd ever given or received, and I couldn't really think of anything. I did, however, quickly recall my worst Valentine's Day ever.

It happened in my senior year of high school. I was the president of the "S" Club, a girls' service organization.

One of our major fundraisers every year was Val-o-Grams. Upon receipt of a paid order by any student, we made Valentines by hand out of  red construction paper and white lace paper doilies. These Valentines were then delivered to classrooms throughout the day by one of our "S" Club members. When the happy recipient received it, inside he or she found the heartfelt prose of a secret, or not-so-secret Valentine. Either way, for those of you who can remember "being in love" in high school, it was a VERY big deal to receive such a message in front of all of your classmates.

So, what made it so awful, you ask?

Imagine ordering one, full of expectation of gratitude from your Valentine - but your Val-o-Gram wasn't delivered. Or, imagine expecting to receive one, your heart beating with anticipation as the "S" Club cupid enters the classroom - but your name wasn't called for delivery.

Now, imagine being president of the organization that misplaced an entire page of Val-o-Gram orders.

Frantic complaints by two or three very unhappy people was all it took. Their love notes had not been delivered! I shuffled through stacks of paper, and to my horror, discovered that we had neglected to make Valentine's for an entire page - approximately 30 people.

Valentine's night, some of my fellow "S" Club members and I, sacrificed our own Valentine celebrations to complete the orders we'd missed. We issued sincere apologies the following day, and with faces as red as the Valentines, delivered them.

The saying, "Better late than never" didn't make me feel any better.

The event has gone down in the annals of my most awful moments. At the time, I thought I'd never live it down. Today, thankfully, I can look back on it fondly as a typically traumatic teenage event. I can even smile about it.

Still, at times I wonder if those missing Val-o-Grams might have changed history.