The Hancock-Henderson Quill, Inc.
by Sherryanne De La Boise
The Fun of A Special Day Unless You Aren't
Valentine's Day is supposed to be a day of love, but for me, it has been a day of great pain. When I was in the fourth grade, beautiful Anne Stevenson reigned as Queen.
Not only did she have thick, straight waist length blonde hair, legs a mile long, beautiful features, but she always had been nice.
That would change, as the males around her would get more aggressive in vying for her attention, but that's another article.
On the other end of the spectrum was Yolonda Huebert. Her two older sisters would walk home with her each day to a small white house. The three of them had tidy brown hair braided into pigtails, buck teeth and sensible homemade clothing of the pioneer generation. She had been over to play at my house a couple of times. She was painfully shy.
Since she did not reciprocate, I stopped asking her.
Mother reported about a very strange conversation with her father concerning the role of women. Mother was no feminist, but she did enjoy her independence.
Only now do I realize that Yolonda's family probably was in transition away from the Amish. If you are out there, I am sorry that I did not try harder to be a friend.
We were at the age where every student was to bring a Valentine for each classmate. We each had decorated brown paper mailboxes, which sat, waiting, open upon our desks.
Alphabetically selected, each student walked around and put a Valentine into every single "mailbox." My Valentines had a Fannie Mae red-foiled chocolate heart pasted, like a stamp, to each envelope. Others gave lollipops and conversation hearts.
I was seated next to Steven Frankel, the obnoxious kid, whose mother picked him up. I have a vivid memory of a fat, bejeweled woman leaning over to open the passenger door, the heat of her gold Cadillac pouring out.
Steven would say something inflammatory to the nearby boys and then jump into the luxurious leather, slam the door, and wave, using just one finger. He had developed "middle school mouth" early, but was of a frail build that could not defend it. His mother was trying to prevent him from getting beaten up.
I noticed that he was being skipped from receiving valentines and that Anne seemed to have twice as many as anyone else. But, I did not care: He was obnoxious.
But, I was horrified that they were skipping over Yolonda. That was just too mean for me to tolerate. I pulled the Valentines out of my mailbox, walked over and put them into hers. This action backfired on all cylinders.
"But, I picked out that Valentine especially for you," my best friend wailed.
"How will you know which boy likes you, if you don't read your Valentines?" asked another friend. I didn't need a Valentine to know no boy that was interested in anyone other than Anne.
But, the worst repercussion came from Yolonda, herself. Had I done nothing, she would have been hurt and her sisters would have comforted her.
Instead, I showed her how unpopular she was, by giving her what the rest of us were getting. She ran from the room, crying. She ran home, without her coat.
Her mother came to get Yolonda's coat. I do not remember what she said to me, but I still flush with humiliation at my own cruelty.
But, I still loved Valentine's Day. I love the gluing of feathers and foil to bits of poetry printed onto pink paper, before putting into red envelopes.
My favorite is:
I want you to know just how special you are. Happy Valentine's Day!"
My ending of participation in Valentine's Day occurred years later when my own son was the victim of cruelty.
We had spent hours making nice Valentines for every teacher, every maintenance person, every classmate.
The Valentines were to be given to the Headmaster to sort and have class officers deliver.
They wanted to make certain that everyone got lots of love. At the time, I thought all this extra work was ridiculous. But, my children were well liked.
In addition, the school was having a fundraiser, whereby students paid for a Valentine to be sung to another student.
A teacher made certain that every student was going to get "a sung" Valentine, as they were delivered their sleeve of Valentines.
But, they did not consider the power of mean girls, who decided not to deliver any, not a single one, to several students, including my son Grant.
Everyone else was decorating their lockers with hearts and Valentine stickers. Everyone else had been embarrassed by getting a singing Valentine, some multiple ones.
His sister had purchased one for him and even that was not delivered. This was a nightmare, as he patiently waited for the girls to sing to him and give him his bag of Valentines. Nothing, none. Even worse, daughter Grace came home with so many Valentine's she could hardly squeeze into the car. Rather than try and share, when she saw her brother's grief, she demanded that we drive to the nearest dumpster.
I love the loyalty of that child: Every single one went in, as she declared Valentine's to be an infringement upon her birthday and not to be celebrated again.
That ended Valentine's Day for us. The pain is just not worth the price of a Hallmark card.