Exploring the Dark Side of Valentine's Day

Big holiday coming up this week. Tuesday, Feb. 15, is Remember the Maine Day.

Oh, you thought I meant that other holiday.

Maybe it’s me, but St. Valentine’s Day is not my one of my favorites. In my order of annual observances it ranks somewhere behind Flag Day, Bastille Day… at least on All Souls Day there is leftover cider and donuts.

It’s a shame, because I used to love Valentine’s Day. As a little squirt I used to pop out those heart-shaped paper cards and address them to everyone in my class. They said “I (heart) you,” and “Be Mine.”

Boys, girls, even the teacher got one. We’d have to make little boxes to carry home all of our Valentine’s Day cards. It was a first-grade love fest. You could just feel the glow of warmth and affection.

Then puberty set in and the love fest was over.  Imagine a seventh-grade boy giving Valentine’s Day cards to the other boys in his class. Imagine him giving them to the girls.

And so begins a period of loneliness and emotional isolation that continues until the last year or two of high school. Or, for some of us, the last year or two of college.

Or, for some of us, sometime between college and our 32^nd birthday.

But eventually, sweet mystery, we rediscover love.

It starts out very innocently. A new neighbor drops by to ask if she can borrow your hedge clippers (never mind that there are no hedges at her house), and you end up offering her a glass of iced tea out on the patio.

You make plans to meet that Sunday for evening service, and afterward you walk into town for an ice cream cone. One thing leads to another, and before you know what’s happening the whole world has become a beautiful, happy place, filled with hearts and rainbows.  You’ve never felt such joy. You can hardly believe it.

And then comes Valentine’s Day.  Suddenly you realize that all that mirth, all those rainbows, might be nothing more than illusion. This awful day will be the test.

But no pressure…

You make reservations at the best restaurant in town. You didn’t realize that you should have made reservations a month in advance, so the only table they have is for 8:30 just outside the kitchen door.

You pick up long-stemmed roses. You consider buying them at Stop & Shop, but someone told you only married people do that, so you go to that earthy flower shop in town and pay $200 for a dozen peach-colored roses (they were all out of red).

You present the flowers to your friend and notice immediately her eyes are welling with tears. You think this is a good thing until she tells you about her allergies. “Roses are the worst,” she says.

You also present a heart-shaped box of chocolates. Not too big. Russell Stover. She tells you she lost 40 pounds a year ago, and gently pushes them away. You bring them out to the car and toss them in the back seat.  

The two of you arrive at the restaurant and find there is still a 30-minute wait. But eventually you are seated across from your dearest one. In the light emanating from the kitchen, you think you have never beheld such enchanting beauty.

You begin with some small talk, but the events of the day somehow take the conversation into a very unexpected place. She professes her admiration for Sarah Palin, and how cheered she is by the prospect of repealing “Obamacare,” which she says is the worst possible affliction to befall this great nation since the New Deal.

You’re not quite sure what to say.

You feel a tightening in your chest. Suddenly you are overcome by the smell of garlic, so intense you can barely breathe. You excuse yourself from the table for just a moment, but on your way to the men’s room you spy the front door. The hostess is holding it open for a couple that is just leaving.

You remember the medium-sized box of chocolates on your back seat. The second half of the Huskies game is just under way. In that moment, an open door never looked so good to you.

But, as I said, that’s just me. I’m sure for most people Valentine’s Day is the greatest.