My Heart goes out

Valentine's Day.

My granddaughters will celebrate Friday, if school is open, and be off on the actual holiday.

Third-grader granddaughter took home my colored construction paper, my pink and red tissue paper, her crayons and a box suitable for cards last week when the last ice storm approached.

The teacher will give a prize for the best decorated box. My granddaughter completed hers with her very artistic mom, and I presume has delivered it this week. Every kid in her class will put in a card in every other kid's box in her classroom.

Right now, in my neighborhood, in this time, homemade cards are an item. She wants to make all her cards herself. No boughten ones. Her sister in middle school is also working on cards to give some friends. And this makes me smile.

When I was a child, I understood Valentine's Day was romantic, and also about love, because my parents included me. It also was about mutual giving, because I remember my mother taking me to the store to find Valentine cards for her, and for Dad.And she picked her own. Not so many to choose from, for the man, back then. But Mom thought the romance was equal. Reciprocated. Mutual. And included the child they had made.

So on Valentine's Day, at breakfast, I always had cards from both. And heart-shaped redhots from Dad and usually a lace or embroidered handkerchief I would never, ever use, from Mom.
I think I used one at my wedding. Which made Mother smile. She had planned this.

Mom got chocolates. And yes, I was a little jealous. I loved chocolate even then. Mom would always give me a piece, though. Right there! At breakfast!

Unlike many men, my father loved Valentine's Day. Maybe it was the generation. Those old-timers didn't need biz or ads, or promotion. Dad just said St. Valentine made a special day to announce his love, and any time he could, he would. And Mom would smile at him...

I grew up in that.

Wasn't I lucky?

I was going to talk more about the holidays of my youth, but I think I will save it for another year.

There are so many good stories to tell. And again, aren't I lucky?