In midwinter during my grammar school days a box with a slotted lid would appear on the teacher’s desk.  (I think they’ve renamed it elementary school, but we really did learn some grammar.)  The teacher explained that it was a box for valentines and that anyone who wished could stay after school and help decorate it.  A few girls volunteered and the next day the box sat transformed into Cupid’s parade of hearts and lace.  We were all invited to drop valentine messages for whomever we wished into the box during the next week.  I think the teacher put in a valentine for each pupil.  She couldn’t afford to have someone left out. 

Saint Valentines Day arrived and the teacher pulled out the little treasures a few at a time from the box, and with the help of a few volunteers distributed them among the class.  As she read each recipient’s name it went sort of like this: “Jean, Ida Mae, Lucy, Joey, Ida Mae, Lois, Billy, Betty, Ida Mae, Jean….”  Most of the kids were delighted, happy or amused with their little cards and cut-outs.  Many knowing looks and smiles went around the room and the children went home eager to show Mom their valentines. 

Ida Mae seemed to be the popular choice of the class, or at least the smartest one.  Anyway, she took home the most valentines.  She was indeed a likable little girl.  She was an eager answering machine, always among the first to raise her hand in response to a question by the teacher to the class.  Ida Mae was a pretty little girl with hair of chestnut brown and bright eyes of matching color.  Her smile was pleasant and contagious.  It was hard to tell how many of the boys in her class had a crush on her. 

Valentines were simple in those days with a message such as “Be my Valentine” or “Roses are red, violets are blue, be my valentine ‘cause I love you”.  They were small, inexpensive and carried a tender thought.  By now they have morphed into items of commerce, flowers, candy, teddy bears, even pajamas.  Some sales people have changed the name to Sweethearts Day.  Oh well, it’s the thought that counts. 

Some fifty years passed before I had any serious thoughts about valentines.  I learned that my second wife Mardelle was clipping pictures, cartoons and other stuff from magazines and storing them in a box.  She said she might use the stuff some day to make valentines.  I thought that sounded like a good idea.  I started to save things she might use.  It’s surprising how much stuff one can find in trade magazines that would work for such a project.  As I added my contributions to the box I wondered why she should have all the fun, and decided to volunteer to help her make her valentines.  She thought it a good idea too.  On a cold winter day she got out the box and we started cutting, pasting and writing little messages.  They became our valentines, not just hers.  It wasn’t long until we had more than enough valentines to share with family and friends.  It turned out that this was one of the best things we ever did together.  It was truly a shared experience. 

I have received many valentines in my life but the best one of all arrived a day late in 1952 when Mary presented me with my second baby girl.  Oh, the valentine baby was the rattiest looking one of all the babies she gave me, but she prettied up before long and was a joy to have for eighteen years.