I suppose it started when I was in second grade. When the teacher made a suggestion that we should celebrate the Valentine’s holiday by sending a card…to a friend…whoever that was. So I did what every child of that era did…I went to my Mother.
“Why one card?”, she said. “Doesn’t everyone deserve a card?” So I sent thirty cards and hand delivered them to all my classmates. As did they. And we all ended up feeling acknowledged…and loved.
But life moves on, and we clarify whom we love. And the list gets smaller. Today I asked my wife whom she sends cards to. “To my Literacy students.” she says, and “to my immediate family.” meaning sons and grandchildren, and me. Which, I guess means I don’t have to send to them, us.
So, I send to immediate family, which I define as surviving members. I used to send to grandmothers and mothers, but they are deceased, so now there is only my wife.
I have not asked my children (fully grown), but one, divorced and with no romantic interest in sight, probably sends none. The other, single to a fault, possibly influenced by his brother’s behavior, probably sends none.
But sometimes, maybe spurred on by the Charles Schultz cartoons of poor Charlie Brown, who never got past not receiving the Valentine from the blonde girl, I am intrigued that there are people from my past, whom I loved, whom I remember, and may even be able to stay in contactwith. Peoplem, who are deserving of remembrance on Valentine’s Day.
If I can only find their address!
Who do you remember? And why?