Valentine’s Day 1979, Revisted

I don’t know if they still do this, but when I was in second grade, all the kids gave little paper valentines to all of their classmates, regardless of gender. Our parents would buy them in a plastic bag of 30 or so, and we would write the name of each classmate on the valentine. Although these valentines were sometimes themed according to a popular TV show, they weren’t really cards, because they couldn’t be opened. The point of them was to get the kids familiar with the ritual. It’s Valentine’s Day, you’re a nice person, so you need to give valentines to others. The details can come later.

One of the other boys in my class, Chip, was mean. I decided not to give him a valentine. My mother, who was supervising my preparation of  the pseudo-cards, tried to talk me out of this exclusion, explaining that Valentine’s Day was a time to be nice. I insisted, and was surprised when my mother shrugged and said that it was up to me. A tiny bit of ground had been gained in my battle to make decisions, and it here it was: I didn’t have to show affection to people I didn’t like. Suddenly, a world of possibilities opened up to me, many of which I would later explore with enthusiasm.

My class distributed our valentines by dropping them in each other’s cubby holes. Each of us ended up with a little pile. I counted mine and verified that I had received one from everyone in the class, including Chip. I looked over at his desk, and was disappointed to see that his own valentines remained clumped in a messy stack at the corner of his desk.

That arrogant bastard, I thought. The art of passive-aggressive withholding of affection had turned out to be more complicated than I had anticipated. I started to plan for next year.