Any Day is a Good Day for a Valentine

Tomorrow is February 14th, Valentine's Day. It is a holiday for lovers, sweethearts, husbands and wives, and even for children to express feelings of love and affection.

I used to hate Valentine's Day with the white hot passion of a thousand suns.

It was an annual reminder of a rotten time in my childhood - before the days of inclusion and before teachers made sure every child in the class gave and received least one valentine. I can remember dreading valentines day at school. I would have, I am sure, spent time crafting valentine cards for each and every member of my class. I'd be sure that each card said something special and unique for the person who'd open it up. And yet it often happened that I received far fewer cards in return - once I received none.

One year, I received a card from a "Secret Admirer". My heart soared. A boy in my class actually liked me! I believed it to be real and was summarily crushed when I learned that it was a cruel joke.

Because of my lack of self esteem and poor self image, that heartbreak stayed with me for years. I refused to even acknowledge what I'd deemed a "Hallmark Holiday" invented by greeting card companies. The feeling waned a bit when I had a high school "boyfriend" - who promptly broke up with me on the phone on Valentine's Day - sending my hatred of the day and the tradition through the roof.

By the time I was dating the man who was destined to be my ex-huz, I gave him the disclaimer early on. His response was basically, "Whatever, you're weird. You should just get over it."

When that marriage failed and I started to date again, I'd give the same disclaimer. No Valentine's presents necessary. If you feel the need to wax poetic about how I rock your world, then do it whenever the mood strikes.

I recited the disclaimer to Huz - who asked me why? Why do you hate Valentine's Day?

Uh... I uh... um... no one had asked why before. It gave me pause. I had kept the story locked away in the diary of my heart. The invitation to spill my guts about the heartache was all it took and I told him the stories of how I became disillusioned with the holiday and all it represents.

And then, he did the most amazing thing.

On February 13th, he presented me with a brown manila envelope. Scrawled on the outside were the words:

to Mary

from the class

I stared at the writing for a few minutes before it dawned on me what he'd done. I fumbled with the metal clasp holding the contents inside and opened it to reveal at least 2 dozen handmade cards, folded construction paper decorated with crayon and scribbled in childlike handwriting.

They tumbled onto my lap. Cards asking "Be Mine", saying "I like you", "Your [sic] my friend" and one of my favorites, "What did you get on the math test?".

He did not take the information that I had a broken heart and file it away as something to use against me or to assist him from making an unnecessary purchase, he acted on it.

I'm pretty sure I fell in love with him that very day.

I still think its bogus to let a calendar dictate when you should say "I Love You" - which is why we always celebrate our Valentine's Day on February 13th - and every day, really.