I remember my first year of college. There were a lot of things missing. I was far too old for Trick or Treat. Thanks to the now defunct 3.2 beer, I did get to dress up and go to Halloween parties. There were no snow days since I lived on campus. And the library was actually for studying.
One of the things I missed the most was Valentine’s Day in school. I can still smell Elmer’s Glue as it adhered paper doilies to the shoebox I would decorate every year, hoping to have it filled with valentine cards from my classmates. I made sure to make the slot in the top extra wide for that one kid who always included a roll of Smarties with his card.
The night before Valentine’s Day was very stressful. I had my package of miniature valentine cards. It had been stressful enough picking out which ones to buy at the drug store. Do I get the ones I like, or the ones that are cool? Do I go for the current popular television theme, or do I choose classic cartoon? And then, which one do I give to HIM. You know who I’m talking about – the object of everyone’s affection, the boy we all wanted to “go steady” with. I couldn’t make it too mushy. And I didn’t want to give him the same valentine that I gave to the other boys. Why didn’t they just sell boxes with valentines that were all the same? Why put a pre-pubescent girl through such agony.
Then came the next stress-inducing portion of the holiday — opening the valentines. I’d take my box home and run upstairs like I had just completed a bank heist. Better shut the door so no one interrupts me while I commence my ceremony of opening, trying to guess who the sender was. Of course I knew what HIS writing looked like. As I sorted the cards, I set HIS aside. Candy-included cards in one pile, regular cards in the other. Ok, enough stalling – open it. Ahhh – is it my imagination, or did HE sign my valentine with a hint of adoration? Once all the cards were opened, saving the one from my teacher for last, it was time to call my BFF (Of course that was before texting and such acronyms existed.) “Did you get the same card I did from HIM?” Comparisons were made. One year, HE signed his name with a little heart on my BFF’s valentine. Mine got no heart. Oh well, there was always next year.
I wonder if my son misses the cardboard box filled with valentines? Oh wait, of course he doesn’t — he’s a guy! Maybe I’ll send him a card anyway. And enclose a roll of Smarties. ![]()






I found out recently that I missed out on the 
