For some reason, way back when, Valentine’s Day was a bigger deal in school than almost any other holiday except Christmas and Halloween. There were, of course, Groundhog Day and Washington’s and Lincoln’s birthdays to observe, but they were quickly dispatched during a half-hour after recess. What was needed was something that involved all the classmates and a party.
It all started during the first week of February when the teacher asked for volunteers to decorate the classroom, appointed a committee to provide the requisite Valentine Mailbox, and handed out lists of classmates’ names so that our parents would see that we provided penny Valentines for everybody in the class. The penny Valentines came in packets of 24 or 36 cards (some collections included envelopes) and there were usually one or two of the Valentines meant for the teacher (which meant she would receive many duplicate Valentines from each of two or three different collections available.)
The Valentine Mailbox was pretty standard and the committee adhered to the usual hatbox from the men’s clothing store, with crepe paper and construction paper cutouts to decorate it. All the Valentine boxes in the East Ward grade school were remarkably alike year after year. There would be a slot cut in the lid of the box through which we could deposit our Valentine cards discreetly when we first arrived at school or before or after recess. I know not why this was considered to be a surreptitious activity but we usually attempted to deposit our Valentine mail in secret.
On the big day, right after our afternoon recess, it was time to break open the Valentine box and distribute the cards. Somebody’s mother would arrive with sugar cookies decorated with red or pink frosting or sprinkled with red cinnamon dots or colored sugar. One year we had glamorous cupcakes from the local bakery, topped with red candy hearts. And there were always those little pastel-colored heart-shaped candy mints with messages printed on them.
Several classmates were appointed by the teacher to distribute the Valentines and, after several years of never being chosen for this glamorous task, my best friend and I devised a plan to get a crack at it. We wrote a Valentine “play” which ended in the two of us opening the celebrated box and handing out the cards ourselves. After she got over her astonishment, our teacher appointed three other students to finish the task.
Forty-some years ago, one of my classmates and I decided to start a newsletter to be sent to all our classmates. I obtained the address list from the reunion committee and wrote to everybody, asking them to write a letter that we would print and mail copies to all the classmates on the list, regardless of whether they all responded. We planned to do this at our own expense, but those who were enthusiastic about the idea sent generous contributions which more than paid for all the printing and mailing expenses. The next winter, I considered sending Christmas cards to all the classmates, reminding them to write again for the newsletter, which we hoped to make an annual event. Knowing how busy everyone is during the holidays, I decided to wait until February and send them all a Valentine instead. It worked out well.
Our class has lost over half its members over the years, but we still write to each other via the newsletter, and I still send them all Valentines each year – and often get Valentines in return.
My memories of those childhood Valentine’s Days remind me that the day was not always joyful. One little girl got a box of chocolates from a boy she didn’t much like, and shed tears of embarrassment. Some received only a few of the treasured envelopes while more popular children reaped more than their share. I clearly remember one unthinking teacher who awarded a prize to the student who received the most cards, in spite of the fact that the lists she sent home had informed parents that, “If your child wishes to give Valentines to some of the children, he/she should bring cards for all in the class.” I still remember that and remind myself just how sensitive young children can be to things we adults consider trivial, and how easily they can be hurt or outright devastated.
A former volunteer and substitute teacher in the Solon schools, Milli is an artist and poet who lives near Morse where she also creates unique greeting cards and handmade books.