We all know what Friday is, don't we?
When I got home and peeled out of my winter gear, I spied three red envelopes on the mantel. One of them had my name on it (I could read that much but little else). One was for my sister Maire, and the other for my sister Gail.
What could this be? The card said silly, mushy things, and was signed "Dad."
Dad? The grouchy guy who was not to be disturbed when reading the paper? The guy with the sand-papery cheeks, by whom I had to sit at dinner because I hated broccoli and spinach? That Dad?
In addition to the cards, we had red velvet cake for dessert, and even at that tender age, I took my dessert very seriously. Valentine's Day, huh? Pretty nice. And it came around every year...?
That was the first time I can recall feeling special for a role that depended on my gender. It changed my self-image, and gave me a hint that femininity equated intrinsically with respect and strength. I and my sisters and mom were special, and that was a novel concept.
What's your earliest recollection of Valentine's Day, or would you just as soon forget the whole business? To one commenter, I'll send a $50 Amazon gift card (and yes, Amazon sells chocolate).