Valentines Day Memories

Copyrighted January 2011 by jake60

Hello dear reader. My name is Jake MacLeod, and I wanted to tell you a bit about my history with the romantic side of Valentine's Day. As is usual for me these days, I'm relaxing in my recliner with a 'wee dram' of good single malt close at hand, and my favorite Blues station playing in the background.

Why don't you get yourself a glass (or cup/can/bottle) of your favorite libation and join me as I tell my story; I'll wait till you get back.

* * * *

I guess it was the advertisement I saw on television a couple of nights ago that got me thinking about this, and since then it's been on my mind a lot. The ad was for a prominent chain of Jewelry Stores, and it was promoting their products for Valentine's Day; 'a gift for your special someone' was the way they phrased it. I'm sure you've seen similar ads.

When you get to be my age (I'm in my mid 60s) there are a lot of things that you don't think about very often, especially events that took place back in grade school or even in high school, for that matter. In my case, the more I thought about Valentine's Day, the more I started thinking about my school days, and my first real exposure to that scary (for a lot of guys) special day that celebrates St. Valentine.

St. Valentine, I have discovered, was actually a third century Christian martyr, who wasn't associated with the concept of celebrating 'romantic love' until Geoffrey Chaucer, the 14th century poet, created the connection all on his own.

I suspect that it is now a day encouraged more by the manufacturers of sentimental greeting cards, (those cards that usually show an overuse of red as their basic color), florists, or chocolatiers trying to hawk their sweets as an appropriate gift for your partner or loved one.

Of course there are also the jewelry companies, smoothly suggesting that you should spend hundreds of dollars on their heart-shaped, diamond encrusted, tokens of love. I almost felt guilty as I realized that I wouldn't be a prospective purchaser of any of these goods this year.

As I said, I thought a lot about Valentine's Day after seeing that ad, and I've decided that I'm going to try to share my memories of that day, and how it has affected me over the years of my life.

* * * *

My earliest memories of the 'ritual' celebration are a bit hazy, which is probably normal considering the number of years that have passed, but I believe it was probably during the sixth or seventh grade of public school that I noticed that the school sponsored exchanges of simple Valentine cards had greatly different importance for the girls in our class, as opposed to the boys.

It became obvious that the girls put a lot more into the celebration of the day, and the comparisons of the number of cards received, and from whom they were received, than the boys did. I don't recall at all that we boys counted our cards to arrive at a rough estimation of our popularity in the class, nor did we seem all that concerned about who gave us the cards.

On the girls' side of the issue it was evident that there was a major, almost life defining, event taking place. Boys being boys, the prettier girls got the most Valentine's Day cards, which apparently caused some of the less fortunate girls to be quite upset. Their reactions ranged from hysteria to depression, or so it seemed at the time.

I know that my sister, who was a grade behind me was very upset that several of the other girls in her group got a few more Valentines than she did.

This kind of a situation would probably never happen now, I'm sure, as it's likely the schools have banned the exchanging of Valentine's Day cards, lest any fragile psyches be damaged by an unequal distribution of cards.

In any event, that was my earliest memory of the importance of the day, but it didn't take too long before I got embroiled in the more embarrassing events the day can create.

* * * *

My first year in high school (we call it grade 9 here in Canada) exposed me to the wonderful world of girls, and I was soon infatuated with one of the girls in my class. Her name was Nancy Madigan, and after class I would sometimes follow her at a distance (this is akin to the modern day crime of stalking, I suppose), trying to see where she lived, but mainly just wanting to see her.

We shared several classes during the day, but the rules of alphabetized seating meant that she was usually always a couple of seats behind me. This was not conducive to being able to lay eyes on her, at least not as much as I would have liked, which led to the then innocent need to wander along behind her.

Nancy was one of the prettier girls in our class, with auburn hair and a few scattered freckles dotting her face. As I recall she didn't stand out in the bust department, but her figure was well proportioned. In any case I was sure I was in love, although it was to turn out in the end to be nothing more than a serious crush.

My opportunity to run headlong into the reality of boy/girl relationships arrived as we got close to Valentine's Day. I may be stretching it to call my interest in Nancy a relationship, since she didn't seem to know I existed.

In an event that would greatly shape my high school years, and consequently even my entire life to some degree, I got the bright idea to send Nancy a Valentine and sign it 'From an Admirer'. It seemed like a foolproof way to let her know that someone really liked her.

Several days later I was in English class, and I happened to notice that Nancy and one of her female friends were making the rounds to several of our male classmates, asking to see their handwritten notes. It didn't take me very long at all to realize that Nancy was trying to find out who the admirer was by making a handwriting comparison.

I'm sure I must have turned several shades of red as this unforeseen realization came upon me, and I know I must have tried to sink out of sight in my seat.

I needn't have bothered with trying to avoid having Nancy check my handwriting, because it soon became obvious that she was only interested in checking the handwriting of the more handsome and popular guys in the class. Since I was never considered anything better than plain of appearance, it was obvious that I didn't really exist to her.

With that rhetorical slap in the face I immediately relaxed, and I was amazed to discover that my crush on Nancy had suddenly almost evaporated. I think it occurred the moment I accepted that I was a nobody to her and her clique of good-looking female friends. Lesson learned. I now believed I obviously wasn't of interest to any of them.

It was while I was thinking of all this it occurred to me that a lot of the modern-day descriptive terminology didn't exist when I was in high school. I would probably have been considered a nerd or geek in today's high school social strata, and Nancy would likely have been recognized as one of the cheerleaders or a member of the beautiful people.

We also had jocks back then, but they were simply referred to as football players or basketball players, never lumped into one catchall group. My knowledge of what the present day high school groups are referred to is very limited, and probably the terms I've just described have already been superseded by something new.

The realization that I would likely be safe from discovery as the shy admirer who had sent Nancy the Valentine's Day card was a real weight off my shoulders. For a couple of days I was able to ignore the fact that I had almost been outed as a hapless and hopeless male trying to obtain the attention of a girl obviously many strata above him on the high school social scale.

All of that changed on the third day after my epiphany of where I stood on Nancy's list of potential boyfriends. I was sitting in the cafeteria when a girl in my class, Eve Klein, sat down beside me. Eve was a lot like me; studious and quiet, and not a member of the chosen.

By that I mean she was good-looking, but didn't try to flaunt it, and seemed to avoid the clique of popular girls. I soon came to discover that she was almost as shy as I was. It didn't take long after she sat down for my pulse to race and my face to flame.

Her first words to me were something like, "I know you were the one who sent Nancy the Valentine she's so excited about. Don't try to deny it, because I looked over her shoulder that day, and I saw the handwritten message. Today when you handed your English test to me to pass to the front of the class, I could see your handwriting was a match to what I saw on that card."

I remember being totally at a loss for words, not even able to deny her statement. Denial likely wouldn't have been possible, considering my embarrassing physical reaction to her words. I finally admitted she was right, and was rewarded for my honesty when she promised to keep my secret.

* * * *

Over the next several weeks Eve and I began to see more of each other, as she started joining me for lunch in the cafeteria. I think it was only a short time later that I began walking her home from school, and it became obvious that we were becoming quite interested in each other.

As the dregs of winter turned into spring, and then edged into summer, we became a couple. It seems ironic now that a Valentine card given to Nancy had the effect of bringing Eve and I together.

We were both totally inexperienced with the opposite sex, and embarked down the road of discovering our sexuality together. This was in the early 1960s, and the sexual revolution hadn't yet begun, certainly not in our part of the world, anyway. I have an awful lot of fond memories of that time. Mind you, I'm probably only remembering the more momentous events, the ones that fed our just awakening sexual appetites.

One of my clearest memories is of how nervous I was the first time I held Eve's hand. It seems almost ludicrous to put such importance to that event, but it was the first time that I think I put myself in a position where I knew I could have been rejected by her. We were seated on a city bus, although I don't remember what our destination was at the time.

I remember letting my hand touch hers, and when she didn't pull her hand back, I slowly took first one finger, and then another into my hand, and the relief I felt when she finally took my hand in hers is still vivid in my mind.

That of course was at the very beginning of the road we covered, and I don't intend to take you every step of the way along it. It was all pretty typical I suppose, at least for that time and place. I know that by the end of the summer we were both exploring beneath each other's clothing, and we had each brought the other to a manual orgasm several times.

I do remember the awesome feeling of accomplishment I had when my fingers were able to please Eve so obviously. I can't say for sure how she felt about generating my first orgasm by her hand, but I remember the 'mess' it created surprised her.

We had just begun our second year of high school, grade 10, (and I think everybody now knew that we were a couple,) when Eve broke some devastating news to me. Her father's employer had transferred him to Halifax, which is on the Atlantic coast of Canada.

It seemed like it was about as far away from where we were living, in suburban Winnipeg, as you could get, and still remain in the country. Realizing that we only had a few more weeks together before she would be forced to leave with her family really upset both of us. We tried to imagine ways that we could stay together, but when all of them had been considered, there was no realistic option left for us at our age.

Neither of us learned very much at school during the first couple of weeks of September, but we finally settled down a bit by the end of that month. It left us with the first two weeks of October to settle on our final goodbyes. I think Eve's parents finally realized how much they were asking of her, as they went out of their way to try and let the two of us have some time together before they all left town for good.

Canadian Thanksgiving is celebrated on the second Monday of October, and I remember having supper with Eve and her family that night.

Two nights later her parents went out for the evening, and I still think they did it to give us a bit of extra time to be alone. We were told about their plans while we had the Thanksgiving celebrations at their home, and the next day Eve and I made a pact to lose our virginity that night while her parents were out.

That evening I came prepared with three condoms that I had stolen from my brother's bedside table, and Eve had prepared her room for the occasion.

I can still vividly recall scattered moments of our time that night. Too much time has passed for me to relate a moment by moment description of our first time. It was special, tender and loving, but I'm sure there was nothing much different about it than most I'm sure. Everyone has their own memories of their first time.

What I will say is that we had almost 2 hours together, and that two of my brother's condoms never made it back into the drawer of his bedside table. Our time together that night ended with a lot of tears shed by both of us, and we exchanged promises of eternal love for each other. It seemed like life had dealt us an impossibly bad hand, but we promised each other to stay in touch and get back together when we got older and could make decisions like that on our own.

* * * *

Eve and I exchanged a lot of letters over the next months, and I'm sure I sent her a Valentine's Day card, although the details of the card and any message inside are long gone from my memory. This was the time long before e-mail, text messages and the like, and even long-distance calls weren't cheap.

I know that as the time passed we both became more used to our separation, and by the end of the school year we agreed to free each other of our promise to wait for a future together.

I suspect that it was a triumph of our hormones over our hearts. Eve had told me there was a boy that was interested in her, and that she kind of liked, and with my newfound self-confidence, courtesy of my time spent with Eve, there were a couple of girls that I wanted to approach for a date.

By the end of that summer we were both involved with new partners, and our letters trickled to a stop. That's not to say that I completely forgot about Eve; I doubt if anyone ever completely forgets about their first love.

My third year of high school was accompanied by a fair amount of dating, with four girls in particular getting most of my attention. None of us were getting serious; we all enjoyed our dates for the opportunities they gave for interaction with the opposite sex, including occasional sexual activity.

I remember that I had gotten used to purchasing my own condoms by this time. However, I don't remember exactly which girl I was seeing at the time when Valentine's Day rolled around. I'm sure I must have given a Valentine to whoever it was. Again, I have no specific recollection of that.

It was during the summer before my last year of high school that I once again became smitten by one girl in particular. I remember I was at a casual dance at a youth club when I first met Jean Evans. Not since Eve had a girl taken over my heart, but Jean managed to accomplish that in a matter of just a few weeks.

We spent the rest of the available time that summer together, and she and I often visited at each other's homes. I soon felt at home with her family, just as I'm sure that she felt the same way with mine.

* * * *

Jean and I were inseparable my entire last year of high school, and as I recall it didn't take too long before we were regularly sexually active. I'm sure both of our families knew about that, or at least suspected it. One time my father mentioned the importance of birth control, and seemed relieved when I immediately told him that I was fully aware of it and wasn't taking any chances.

I remember that he seemed embarrassed enough about the subject to immediately drop it, now that I had eased his concerns. It was around the same time that Jean had told me that her mother had made similar comments to her.

On Valentine's Day I gave Jean a fairly large card, decorated with a satin bow, and inscribed 'To the One I Love'. How do I know this, you might ask? Well, Jean was very sentimental about things like that, and saved every card, letter and note I ever gave her.

You could probably guess that she and I became a married couple, which indeed happened a couple of years later. She had been a year behind me in high school, so while she was getting her last year, I was involved with taking an apprenticeship as an auto mechanic.

About two months after she graduated from high school we were married. I hadn't completed my apprenticeship, but I was working enough hours that, with her earnings as a secretary, we were able to rent a small apartment to begin our married life together.

A lot of memories come back to me as I think of this period of time in our lives, but most don't pertain to the subject of Valentine's Day. However, as I said, Jean saved all of our various cards to each other, and as the first years of our life together passed, she acquired quite a collection.

They were all kept in a large box, suitably sorted and in labeled envelopes. It was easy for either of us to locate my Christmas cards to her, or her birthday cards to me.

We had been married three years when our first child, our daughter Marie, arrived and Jean stopped working to be a full-time mom. Less than two years later there was Robert, followed another year later by our third, and last child, a second daughter we named Sheila. Just before Sheila was born we purchased a home that would be big enough for our family for hopefully years to come.

Our youngest was only about a year old when we ran into some financial concerns brought on by a protracted labor dispute in our town. The company that had the strike was a major employer, and that financially affected almost everyone and every business in town. The car dealer I worked for as a mechanic was forced to cut back on hours, and our finances were stretched thin enough that Jean and I had to plan on ways that we could try to save money.

As a part of that austerity move, Jean came up with a plan that became a family tradition.

We agreed to no longer buy each other fancy cards for special occasions, but would instead 'recycle' the ones that were saved from prior years. The result was that as the years passed some cards were reused several times more than others, especially the cards that were our favorites.

It became quite a familiar scene to get up on the morning of our birthday, or Easter, or Valentine's Day and find a familiar card waiting for us. It was a standing joke that 'the envelope must have gotten lost', because each card was presented without an envelope.

* * * *

Jean and I had a very good life together, raising our three children and taking part in all of the joys that children can bring. All three of our children are married now, and between the three of them they have presented us with five grandchildren. A sixth grandchild is expected in about four months, and I really wish that Jean could be here to celebrate the birth of this child. Unfortunately, that wasn't meant to be.

Just a few years ago, shortly after our 40th anniversary, Jean was bothered by an unusual sensation in her stomach area. Our health system being what it is, it took her a few weeks to get in to see her doctor, and subsequent visits every few weeks or months to first one specialist, and then another, followed by waits for CT scans and an MRI. We finally found out six months later that she was harboring the big C.