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why I celebrate Valentine's Day
Feb. 14th, 2008 06:48 pmEvery Valentine's day, up until he died, I always got a box of chocolates from my grandfather. A box of chocolates, and a heart-shaped homemade card outlined in red felt tip pen and cut out of white typing paper. In his prettiest, best cursive, he would write our names on one half of the heart. When opened, mine always said something along the lines of "I love you a heap. Love, Grandpa T."
I still have some of those hearts.
In the beginning, when we were little kids, my cousin and I got the small cheap packages - first Sweetheart conversational hearts, and then tiny hearts wrapped in red cellophane with a couple of pieces of chocolate inside. Once we reached a certain age milestone (12? 16? I can't recall), we got the same thing as the adult women - a one pound Whitman's Sampler. I can still probably tell you what most of the candies in that big yellow box are by sight and position, even though he's been dead now for over six years, and I haven't had one since then.
What this means to me, what I take from it, is that Valentine's Day is a day to tell people that you love them. Well, if you do, of course. (Lying would be wrong, and not at all in the spirit of my grandfather's tradition. :-) )
I'm really lucky that there are so many people so willing to give of themselves and touch my life. On Valentine's Day, I try to let them - you - know this, without being shy or coy or afraid.
One day none of us will be here anymore. This isn't melodrama; this is fact. Before that happens, know that you were special to me, that I loved you. And pass it on to those you love, without fear of looking ridiculous. Because you won't, not to anyone who remotely has a clue.
I like to think that my grandfather lives on in the valentines I give - the ones I fold and cut by hand while trying to give shape to the wordless gratitude in my heart.
I still have some of those hearts.
In the beginning, when we were little kids, my cousin and I got the small cheap packages - first Sweetheart conversational hearts, and then tiny hearts wrapped in red cellophane with a couple of pieces of chocolate inside. Once we reached a certain age milestone (12? 16? I can't recall), we got the same thing as the adult women - a one pound Whitman's Sampler. I can still probably tell you what most of the candies in that big yellow box are by sight and position, even though he's been dead now for over six years, and I haven't had one since then.
What this means to me, what I take from it, is that Valentine's Day is a day to tell people that you love them. Well, if you do, of course. (Lying would be wrong, and not at all in the spirit of my grandfather's tradition. :-) )
I'm really lucky that there are so many people so willing to give of themselves and touch my life. On Valentine's Day, I try to let them - you - know this, without being shy or coy or afraid.
One day none of us will be here anymore. This isn't melodrama; this is fact. Before that happens, know that you were special to me, that I loved you. And pass it on to those you love, without fear of looking ridiculous. Because you won't, not to anyone who remotely has a clue.
I like to think that my grandfather lives on in the valentines I give - the ones I fold and cut by hand while trying to give shape to the wordless gratitude in my heart.