When I was growing up I always liked Valentine’s Day. The flowers, the balloons, chocolate hearts would flood our schools on February 14th and I would find myself wishing that one of those deliveries had my name on it. I was plain, without style, rarely wore makeup and favored t-shirts with jeans over more stylish clothes. Still, I wished one was mine, to be loved by someone enough to get flowers or something.
Years
later, my ideas changed and I guess I changed with them. Sometimes I am still like
that young girl, t-shirts and jeans, no make-up, just me. A few years ago, I
really considered this day in depth. I felt that the original meaning of this
day went out the window as retail turned into a huge marketing chance.
I
remember the reactions of the kids in school, the boys boosting over buying
their girl something, the girl’s competing with size and quantity. Then the
girl’s that always got something every year, not even really caring about what
they got, because they had come to expect such and no longer appreciated the
value of the gift. Boys that would break up with their girlfriend’s right
before Valentine’s Day just so they did not have to try to meet such blind
expectations or maybe the fear that everyone might actually think they loved
the girl. It was sad.
After a
while the day disgusted me, people disgusted me. Work places, schools, etc,
ended up smelling like funeral homes. Women would eat the chocolate, coo over
the gift and bitch about the weight they would put on from indulging that
little bit. Then you would have the ones that would complain about not having a
Valentine for that day.
Recently
on Facebook, I saw a little picture card. It said for all the ones that don’t
have a Valentine on Valentine’s Day, suck it up. There are many out there that
don’t have mothers on Mother’s Day, fathers on Father’s Day. I never considered
that, I assume most don’t, but it is true. Our losses could always be much
worse.
Some of
the nicest gifts I have ever received were ones I never expected, ones that had
no meaning other than it was just a moment that happened. One time, I had met
someone for dinner, we enjoyed each other’s company, but we both did not feel
we were right for one another. As we walked out, he leaned down, picked a rose
and gave it to me. Even though we did not click, he still went that extra
minute of his time to really blow me away. Another time, I was having coffee
with someone who sat there playing with a paper napkin throughout our
conversation. Finally he looked up and handed me the napkin, which was folded
to resemble a rose. These are the small things that mean the most. A dozen red
roses will never rival that paper napkin rose.
There
are three hundred and sixty five days a year. Why is it, so many people choose one day to
show someone they love them? Should it not be every day, not with roses, but
small things that will always imprint on your mind and your heart?
Then there
are times, when you put yourself into a gift, into someone, dedicated but
knowing they would probably never truly understand the depth of the gift they
held in their hands. Sometimes it is simply love that is the gift that you give
and you should give that every day, show it every day, remember it for a life
time.
~Tink~
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