Half Cent Valentine's Day

When I was in elementary school, especially in second and third grade, Valentine's Day was a big event. When I got older, Valentine's Day took on different meaning. More of a sense of romantic love. Back then, it was more about friendship.

We never would have thought of buying store-bought valentine's cards. We made our valentines. Right in school! There weren't as many kinds of valentines in the stores, and the idea of spending money to get something that should be coming from your heart was considered gauche.

The week before the big day, our art teacher would load the long art tables with supplies - red, white and pink sheets of construction paper, lace doilies, silver and gold foils, red, white and pink tissue papers and plain white paper to make envelopes from.

He showed us how to fold a sheet of red construction paper in half and draw a perfect half a heart shape to cut along which would produce a balanced and well shaped heart. We could make them in all sizes from the teeny tiny to the full paper size and made good use of both the solid heart and the cut out shape where the solid heart had been. Then he turned us lose to make valentines to our hearts content.

I had a huge list to fill. I always started with Mom. Of course. Who else but Mom should get one of these artistic creations? Then there was the brothers and sisters list, the kids who lived on my street, the kids in my class, the friends who lived in other cities, the people who attended my church who didn't have children - at least not ones who lived close by. I had a looong list with lots of names on it.

We talked and laughed and copied each others' ideas while we cut and pasted and folded and decorated and wrote. Nothing mushy mind you. Just short texts like "Be My Valentine" and "Hugs and Kisses." I loved the smell of the paste that came in big white pots with lids that had brushes attached. Snips of paper flew everywhere and sometimes you ended up gluing extra stuff where you didn't mean to glue stuff! Each person tucked everything they made into an empty shoebox for the big day.

If we didn't finish by the time art class was over, we could come back during recess (free time after lunch) or after school (before the bus arrived) or even in the morning before classes started if we wished. We plotted and created and counted to make sure we could give a card to everyone we knew.


At last the big day arrived. Someone always brought in cupcakes with little heart candies on fluffy white icing. We all hurried to our classroom to stuff the valentines we had made in our classmates' boxes. Everybody had a shoebox with their name on it, decorated with hearts and arrows and cupids. Cut into the front of the box was a little slot and we took turns dropping our cards in each other's slots. My tummy tingled with excitement.

The day began like every other day. First the pledge of allegiance to the flag, then roll call, then each subject. We squirmed in our seats, impatient for the party to begin. We worried through math, fidgeted through reading, and had a hard time staying focused through writing. Who could think about such boring things as adding or sounding out words when those shoeboxes full of cards awaited our investigation?

At last, our teacher would lay aside her book and quietly tell us to clear our desks and sit up straight. We knew the moment had come. Ceremoniously, she brought each child's shoebox to their desk and place it in front of them. We knew better than to start opening. First, we waited to see her open her valentines.

She sat quietly behind her big desk and took the lid off her shoebox. One by one, she took out the cards, opened them, read the words and told who it was from, then showed us the artwork, holding the card up high in the air for us all to "oooohhhh" and "aaahhhh." Each card was unique and beautiful. Some were just plain and neatly lettered, others had all sorts of fancy paper doodads dangling off them.

The most important hope was that the teacher would say something about the card you gave her that showed how much she liked yours. When she opened my valentine, I would hold my breath, worried that she wouldn't like it, or would just toss it aside. But she never did. I am not an artist. I can't draw well, and somehow my hearts always seemed crooked.

But my teacher never noticed that. She would exclaim about the creative use of tissue paper or the cute little arrow piercing the heart or the neatness of the lettering. I always felt proud that my efforts at making a valentine pleased her. After she finished her box of cards, we all dove into ours, opening the decorated envelopes and watching our piles grow. We had so many friends, we were rich with valentines.

No child had fewer than any other child, not even the troublemakers or the kids who took forever to learn. Everyone got the same amount of caring creations as everyone else. It was nice to be showered with valentines. And get to eat cupcakes in class! On our way out to the bus, the teacher always gave each of us a handful of those little candy hearts that had sayings on them, and we would read them out loud to each other, laughing at the silly sayings, and crunch them loudly while we made our ways home.

There I would admire the cards my brothers and sisters got, and hand out the ones I made for them, especially for the younger kids who didn't go to school yet. Mom always made a heart shaped cake for dessert and hung our cards to her on the refrigerator where they stayed until Easter. All in all, a lovely day.