Carrying my plastic Safeway bag, I rushed into Mrs. Curtis’ fifth-grade classroom and sat down as quickly as possible. The day before, my class decorated its cubbies with heart and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles stickers, which nicely accentuated our name tags.
As soon as Mrs. Curtis let us, we sprinted to our cubbies to sift through our Valentines. I was looking for one in particular. I had a crush on a boy in the next-door class whom, to protect my pride, I will call Max.
Then I found it. Not an ordinary, pink and purple cartoon-covered flimsy paperboard Valentine, but an envelope. This white envelope had my name, in distinctive boy’s handwriting, unevenly scribbled on the front.
I opened it immediately, and to my awe, the words “To Beth, will you be my Valentine?” appeared. Pausing for a minute to catch my breath, I glanced around the room. I hastily gathered my friends into the reading corner and told them my news. By the time our class got to go to recess, the story had not only traveled through Mrs. Curtis’ room, but to Mrs. Krakow’s fifth-grade class next door.
Two hours later, as I was playing the Oregon Trail game in the computer room, I saw my crush’s friend. He started telling me in front of everyone in the class that Max didn’t write me the valentine, he did.
“It was just a joke Beth, I didn’t think you’d take it seriously,” he said.
I know not everyone’s childhood Valentine’s Day memories involve heartbreak and utter humiliation, but my most vivid Valentine’s Day memory does.
Not all of my Valentine’s Days have left me with such negative memories. I remember making big red construction-paper cards decorated in silver glitter for my parents and hoping to win the Valentine’s Day cakewalk. I would revel in the joys of Valentine’s Day bingo, a game I regularly won, and wait in anticipation to enjoy the vanilla cupcakes with three inches of pink frosting and sprinkles on top — the ones my parents would never buy.
But I have remained bitter. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the cards, the candy and an occasional game of bingo. I just can’t trust the sincerity of Valentine’s cards. So, nearly a decade later, I hope I’ll finally be able to enjoy Feb. 14 for the candy-eating, pink and red, sparkly, love-filled day that it is.