It was Friday, February 13th. I woke up that morning and started getting ready for school, but halfway through the process I stopped and went into the living room where Mom was watching the morning news.
"Mom, can I please stay home from school today?"
"Are you feeling sick?"
"No. It's just... Everyone is going to be getting stuff for Valentine's Day except me. I never get anything. I don't want to be the only girl walking around school empty handed. Everyone will think I'm a loser."
Mom gave me a hug and a kiss to try and comfort me. I'm sure she offered words of love and encouragement while explaining that sometimes we have to do things we don't really want to do, and being anti-Valentine's Day is not an acceptable reason to stay home from school. I don't remember the exact conversation, but it was determined that I would have to attend classes that day. I'm also sure that I wasn't the only girl who didn't get flowers or balloons or candy delivered to her on Valentine's Day, but to my 13 year old mind, it sure felt that way at the time. So off to school I went.
The day began just as I expected it to. Office assistants were in and out of the classrooms all morning delivering flowers for this girl, a balloon bouquet for that girl, and I just buried myself in my studies as I always had. But then things took a strange turn. Someone came in with a balloon bouquet and the teacher called me to her desk and handed them to me. I must have turned seven shades of red. I knew without looking at the card who had sent them, but I didn't care. I had something in my possession that announced to everyone else that someone loved me, and that's all that mattered.
I was elated when I left that class to go to the next one. In the sea of pinks and reds that floated through the corridors, I no longer stood alone. I carried those balloons proudly to my next class where, much to my surprise, I got another gift, and in the next class another. Some of the cards were signed from Mom and Dad, or from my sisters, but some of them were signed, "Your Secret Admirer." Of course the handwriting on the "secret admirer" cards was Mom's handwriting, but I understood the message she was sending. I felt loved. I felt normal. I felt included.
By the end of the day I had amassed quite a loot: balloons, candy, and even jewelry. In the last class of the day, I was once again called to the teacher's desk to retrieve a bouquet of red roses that had been delivered for me. As I went back to my desk and put the flowers next to my other gifts, everything changed.
"Wow Paula, who sent you those?" asked a girl in my class.
"I don't know," I replied.
"What do you mean you don't know? What does the card say?"
"It says 'From your secret admirer.'"
Then from somewhere behind me another voice said softly, although quite loud enough for me and several other people to hear, "They're probably from her mother."
Half a dozen girls snickered and giggled, and just like that, I hated Valentine's Day again. I had been put right back in my place as Loser (with a capital "L") because the only person who loved me enough to send me gifts on Valentine's Day was my mother. And when you're 13 years old, that's like the kiss of death to your social status.
Of course as an adult looking back, I appreciate those gifts from my family. It taught me that when I am sad or lonely or even when I feel like everyone else has abandoned me, my family will always, without fail, be there for me. They are the most important people in my life, and I am so lucky to have that kind of relationship with them. Some people don't have that, and I am thankful every day that I do.
But I still hate Valentine's Day. I see Facebook pictures of flowers and candy and jewelry, accompanied by romantic sentiments of how much they are loved, and I feel lonely and rejected. I know when a floral shop van pulls into the parking lot at work, those flowers are not for me. I know that I have no plans that night. No one will be taking me to dinner at a fancy restaurant or making me a meal to be eaten by candlelight at home, and no one will be professing their undying love for me. And while I am an admittedly jaded, dyed-in-the-wool independent single woman, that damaged part of my psyche rears its ugly head every February 14th, and for that day, I am a 13 year old Loser again.
I am sincerely happy for my friends who are in loving, committed relationships, and I don't feel the need to run out and find a boyfriend just so I can receive gifts. I just wish Valentine's Day didn't exist.
From one of my all-time favorite movies, "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind."
Random thoughts for Valentine's Day, 2004: Today is a holiday invented by greeting card companies to make people feel like crap.
Yep. That about sums it up.
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