In one of my daughters’ classrooms this week, she overheard a group of boys talking. One boy said, “I actually really don’t like Valentine’s Day. Like, at all.”
My first response was, “YES! Fight the power, boys!”
My next response was that someone should tell those boys, or everyone for that matter, that it’s okay not to like Valentine’s Day.
I’m with these boys. Always have been. Always will be.
Valentine’s Day. Not a fan.
I do not like Valentine’s Day and it started when I was in grade school.
Why?
It’s hard for a quiet introvert. It’s particularly hard for a quiet, introverted, and oversized boy.
Here’s a fictionalized, composite account of how things would go at the Hays house prepping for the Valentine-pacalypse in my elementary school years.
The Nightmare Before Valentine’s
I sit at the kitchen table. My mom drops a package of Valentine’s in front of me. I groan. She gives me the death glare, shakes a finger at me, and says, “Get busy.”
I groan again and dump the contents of the package. Some stupid generic cartoon version of Valentine’s cards with matching thin paper envelopes. My stomach tightens. Sweat beads on my forehead.
I risk a glance around the table. My older sister works dutifully on hers. My two little brothers, who don’t understand anything beyond the Valentine’s candy factor at this point of their innocent, young lives, happily scribble on their cards. A chorus of snickers snaps me back to reality. My two older brothers laugh in the kitchen doorway. Apparently, they’ve outgrown participating in the Valentine’s Day classroom card-giving horror. But they haven’t outgrown being obnoxious.
“Mom!’
“What.”
“Tell them to go away.”
“Boys, go away.”
The older brothers do not go away. Older brothers, in general, take this as an invitation to mock even more.
I ignore them and start sliding a card into an envelope.
Mom clears her throat. “What are you doing?”
“My stupid valentines.”
“Well, you need to write on them before putting them in the envelope.”
I groan.
“Now.” She throws a marker in front of me.
“What do I write?”
Mom sighs. “How about…’Love, Mike?’”
My heart stops.
My older brothers completely lose it. Even my sister laughs.
“NO WAY!” I exclaim on the verge of tears.
Mom thinks for a second. “Well, just go with the classic ‘To: ___ From: Mike.’”
I settle for that option.
I tear through the boys in my class from the top of my head. I have to consult the class list to remember all the girls’ names. As I write the final girl’s name on the card and the envelope, I notice two brothers glaring over my shoulder.
“Hey, Mike. Who’s XXXX? (XXXX is a female classmate, completely undeserving of the tormenting my older brothers will inflict and thus will remain anonymous.)
“She’s in my class.” I finish putting the Valentines in envelopes and put them in a pile.
My older brothers, unable to resist, begin to sing the classic “Mike and XXXX, sitting in a tree…”
I turn red and want to crawl under the table.
Mom comes to the rescue. “Would you two shut up?”
They shut up. Well, if shutting up means laughing uncontrollably, they shut up.
I try to make a quick escape.
“Where are you going?” Mom asks.
“I’m done.”
“Uh, no you aren’t. You have to add the candy hearts and seal your envelopes.”
Groan.
Death eyes.
I sit back down and grab a handful of the candy hearts. They taste like somebody sliced chalkboard chalk and printed sappy phrases on them. Seriously? Someone had an actual job deciding “BE MINE” belonged on perhaps the lamest excuse for candy in the history of sugar confections? Chalk another one into the “Dislike Valentine’s” column.
I drop a couple of hearts in each envelope and lick the envelope before sealing. I pick up the final Valentine. It’s XXXX’s Valentine. I slowly lift it to my mouth and begin the process of sealing it.
My older brothers lose it. “Hahahahaha! He’s kissing XXXX!” They can’t contain themselves. I think Mom even stifles a giggle at this point.
I’m defeated. I slowly cram the stack of Valentines into the brown paper lunch sack Mom provided. I get up and shuffle toward my room.
Defeated. Humiliated. Beaten down.
I try to go to sleep. Maybe I’ll wake up with a violent case of stomach flu in the morning. Or pastel-colored, chalk candy poisoning. There’s always hope. There’s always the light at the end of the tunnel that is February 15th.
God, I hate Valentine’s Day.
***
And all these years later, I still don’t like it. Except maybe for the occasional chocolate treat, Sweetart heart, or cinnamon gummy heart, it’s not a huge day in the Mike Hays canon.
So if you’re like me and are squarely not in the corner of Valentine’s Day, it’s okay. Don’t let society make you feel guilty or that you don’t value the power of love in your life. You just don’t like a holiday.
If you see Valentine’s Day on the calendar and say, “YECHHHH!”, I suggest the exceptional picture book, A CRANKENSTEIN VALENTINE by Samantha Berger. If there was ever a Valentine’s Day literary parallel to the young Mike Hays, it’s Crankenstein in this wonderful book.
Celebrate February 14 as you see fit.
If you, like the boys in my daughter’s class, “actually really don’t like Valentine’s Day. Like, at all”, don’t feel bad about it.
Fight the power. Show the ones you love that spirit of love every day, not just on the 14th of February.
Channel your inner Crankenstein and find a way to enjoy the day your way.