Off the Editor’s Spike by Darryl Wilkinson
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In America we honor a day of love called Valentine’s Day. On this annual holiday, we remind ourselves of the need to love and respect others in hope that the memory of this day will remain with us, and guide us, throughout the year.
Historically, the holiday is named in honor of a an ancient Roman. Tradition pictures a young man saluting a sweetheart by sending her a card trimmed in lace, bearing her name. But the observance embraces more than just the romance between young persons. It really is an opportunity to genuinely express hope and affection for others, for if we cannot be at peace with our neighbors we cannot be at peace with ourselves.
But those aren’t the thoughts that normally come to mind when a guy looks at the calendar and sees that today is Feb. 14. Sometimes it’s panic, like when you forget an anniversary. Sometimes it’s embarrassment, especially if you’re the guy sorting through some of those sheer, lacy things in a women’s clothing section ..and you bump into somebody you know.
The best Valentine’s memories are personal.
Valentine’s involves my first true love, my mother. She spoiled me by giving us kids a Valentine’s Day gift (until I started expecting the surprise, like another Christmas). I wanted a helicopter, one of those metal toys now considered antiques where the propellers whirl as you push the rubber tires along on the floor which I almost immediately broke. I promptly demanded a replacement — and instead got a lesson on giving and receiving. I’m thankful for a mother who showed me how real love sometimes really means “No.”
Do you remember your first kiss of romance? Sorry, Liz, but if Valentine’s Day is a time to harken back to my first kiss, you missed it. By about 12 years.
First grade was about taking a Valentine’s card to school, one for everybody in the class. I’m sure I made the mandatory hearts using bright red construction paper, with the glitter flaking off smeared glue all the way home. But I’m not sure what motivated me to kiss my first significant other. I doubt if it was Valentine’s Day.
What I do recall is walking into the classroom after recess. The teacher was trying to herd us to the coat racks at the back where I was supposed to be taking off my boots. But Rose’s desk seemed framed in the doorway, and her hair was so blonde and pretty. It took only three quick steps. It was an innocent impulse to kiss her on the cheek. Which I did.
She, likewise, acted on her first impulse. She slapped me.
Stunned, I sat down as quickly as possible and tried not to ever look at Rose again. I have, in fact, successfully erased the rest of that traumatic experience from my fragile psyche; I don’t even remember Rose’s last name. But I know it was a life-changing experience.
Some say everything they needed to know about life was learned in kindergarten. Well, I never went to kindergarten so maybe that’s why my first grade encounter with Rose was so traumatic. I simply expected every love to be the maternal variety …you know, the (s)motherly kind. I hadn’t considered how romance might be different. But Rose showed me that whatever love is, romance is risky.
There’s safety in numbers so, in elementary school, you were taught to give a Valentine to everybody. By fifth grade trading Valentine’s cards with everyone in the class had lost its luster. The lesson: love is far too precious to be offered indiscriminately.
Views change radically and get jumbled in junior high. Sometimes the first thing I ask my 12-year- old son when I arrive home at night is whether or not he kissed a girl that day. I don’t know if his grimace is because of that very thought or the repetition of my worn out joke. But it won’t be long before he suffers his first “heart attack.” He may not get slapped like his ol’ man but, if he’s normal (and diverts his attention from ESPN’s Sport Center long enough) he will at least suffer a heartburn or heart stroke.
As a teenager, love becomes the comedy of Eros. Attraction to the opposite sex is as common during these years as pimples. These are the years of perpetual emotion. Many of the experiences are thoroughly forgettable and, no, I’m not sharing any with you here. I know you’ve got your own to mull over. I suspect one common denominator is the realization about how emotions, when you act on romantic notions, come with price tags.
What’s the normal age to know that love must be mutual if it’s to work? If that were finite, they’d surely be much fewer romance novels on the bookshelves. Rest assured that although I’m writing about love, I am no expert on the subject. I expect — no, plan — to take a full lifetime trying to understand what love means.
The nature of love places certain demands on those who wish to enjoy it. You must regard yourself as worthy of being loved. One way worthy is to give love not with expectation but with hope that it is returned, just as we must provide in a practical manner whenever there is genuine need.
Someone who says “Love me just because I need it” seeks an unearned spiritual value — in the same way that a thief seeks unearned wealth. To quote a famous line from The Fountainhead: “To say ‘I love you,’ one must know first how to say the ‘I.'”
Valentine’s Day — with its colorful cards, mouth-watering chocolates and silky lingerie — gives material form to this spiritual value. But it’s better to pause, to ignore these trivialities of life — and to celebrate the pleasure of being worthy of someone’s love and of having found someone worthy of yours.
Happy Valentine’s Day!