copyright © 2007. 2011 Betsy L. Angert. Empathy And Education; BeThink or BeThink.org
Valentine's Day is truly my favorite holiday. It always has been. I have heard the complaints. The day is too commercial. These objections have been expressed for as long as I can remember. I understand the grievances, although I have always felt the celebration need not be all about calculated consumption. However, as with all else I fear today, our rights to individual expression are slipping away. Perchance, some are gone. Possibly, the potential of being unique has been supplanted. In homes, schools, and on the city streets throughout the countryside most everything is standardized.
Being free to choose the way we honor others is barely possible now. All is contained, constrained, controlled, and crafted to fit a formula. Classroom curriculums reflect much of what is in our culture. Today, rote is the rule. Grades reflect the ability to regurgitate a prescribed program. Americans have come to accept much of what in years passed would have been rejected. We conform.
Gay rights, or the lack there of is considered apt. Driving while Black, or even walking in wealthy neighborhoods, if you are a person of color could spawn a vibrant conversation. Each is characterizes as out-of-place or “inappropriate.” The Golden Rule lost garners little attention. I am concerned about each of these topics and more dire dealings. Nevertheless, today, I wish to discuss something perhaps, more mundane, children's' Valentine's Day cards.
A friend and I are planned an outing. We would travel hither and yon to visit close friends on this Day of deliberation. My chum has a heart bigger than the universe. For decades, he has heard tales of why I love February 14th. He, let us call him Barry, knows that my Mom regularly baked a heart shaped Aunt Helen's cake on this day of love. [Aunt Helen's cake is named after my Aunt. She loved my Mom's creation. The delicacy is a three-egg cake, made with maraschino cherries and walnuts. The frosting is pink butter crème. Cherry juice is poured into the icing as it whips up in the mixer.].
Each year, Mommy and I gave my Dad a new pair of boxer shorts just for the occasion. These undergarments were made with Valentine's Day in mind. Hearts and sweet sayings adorned the fabric. Daddy bought trinkets for Mommy and me. For the short time that my eldest sister lived at home, she too was included in the gift giving. Flowers filled the house and on the evening of February 14, our favorite foods were prepared.
Of course, cards were exchanged. It was all so loving. I delighted in the energy of caring and sharing. I still do.
Barry had hoped to replicate this experience for me. He thought he would evoke all the feelings. My friend understands memories never die; they are the treasures we cherish. Barry wondered aloud, would it not be nice to give each of our friends Valentine's Day cards, the ones we all received as children. He mused; might we also bestow the gift of Sweetheart candy. You, dear reader, perhaps recall the heart shaped confection with melodious messages. "I love you," "You are my sweetheart," "Be Mine", "Kiss Me", "Call Me", and "Miss You" all touched our hearts and our small, little hands when we were in grade school.
When asked, I said "Oh, I would love to do that!. Let us." Barry went shopping. He sought what he thought would be an easy find. He went to grocery stores, drug shops, stationers, and even the big box warehouses. My friend found the candy easily, though the message imprinted on the surface has changed.
New sayings are added every year and others are taken away (ergo, witness the denouement of "Fax Me"). Sweethearts are made by the New England Confectionery Company, or NECCO. [Sweethearts were originally invented by Howard B. Stark, of the Stark Candy Company, which was purchased by NECCO.]
The package from NECCO calls them "Sweethearts," which is the other common way of referring to them, but below that it says "tiny conversation hearts" as well as "#1 valentine candy." They were not always heart-shaped, rather they were in the shape of many things such as horseshoes and baseballs. They are now produced exclusively in the familiar heart shape as a Valentines day candy. . . .
Modern-day Phrases-My Pet, Bear Hug, Go Fish, Love Bird, Take A Walk, Purr Fect, Cool Cat, Top Dog, Puppy Love, URA Tiger
I am fine with the variance in communication and thankful that "Fax Me" did not last. Nonetheless, I am disillusioned by the realization. The cute little generic Valentine's Day cards are gone.
My heart sank. I remember spending endless hours at the kitchen table, or on the living room floor filing through the box of inexpensive notes. As I shuffled through the cards I thought, 'Did this "dude" look more like the person I was giving this card to than the next.'. Was the message innocent or was it a little too intimate. Would Sally believe my words were too syrupy? Might Jason get the wrong impression.
I would carefully select which memorandum when to whom. I might draw an image on the red envelope. Perhaps a heart or a star would grace the paper. I stuffed each communication carefully into its cover, addressed these, and anticipated the reception.
I might send forty cards, maybe more. One box was not enough. Of course, my parents knew to buy extras. On occasion, I made a spelling mistake, or thought better after writing a message. The event of etching my words into gentle gestures was a labor of love. I recall this reverie fondly. How could this be. Barry and I were not going to be able to completely recreate the joy of Valentine's Day. Oh no!
My heart filled with sadness. I know Barry is notably persistent, even or especially in his shopping. He is tireless when he travels from store to store. Barry is intent; some say determined. I have known this honey for tens of years. I trust that he will journey endlessly, searching until he finds what he wants. Barry moves in and out of shops. He speaks with retailers. He wants to know why the merchandise he is looking for is unavailable.
When chatting with me this morning, Barry bemoaned those boxes of flat children's cards seem to have disappeared from vendor's shelves. Care Bears and Disney seem to have taken over. Currently, card giving is advertising. Pokemon is prevalent. Powerpuff Girls are glossing the surfaces of many a printed surface. Scooby Doo; yes, he loves you. Sponge Bob will sop up your sorrows. Disney characters will declare their affection. Yet, the once ubiquitous unknown characters are gone.
I searched for myself; although I trust that Barry was likely more enduring than I would be. It was true. I witnessed as my friend did.
The uniqueness of our being is now too banal. If we are to make an impression, we must mirror celebrity images. "Creative" caricatures are now commonplace. Apparently, the manufactures think these are more marvelous, coveted, or perchance convenient for them to make. After all, mass marketing is profitable. Why would we want to be different or genuine, when we can be contrived.
Thus, today, when we voice our affections, we sell their success. Those that can and do supply successful screen names prosper.
Oh, a child could hand-make all his or her cards. However, to fulfill the needs of one that likely sits in an overcrowded classroom, might take months. There is little time to spread love. It seems we only devote a day to this endeavor. While, admittedly we have time for war. Watch what happens on playgrounds and battlefields abroad. I have long wondered of our priorities. That is why I revel in Valentine's Day. Yet . . .
Perhaps, in a time when nations promote combat, corporations cut personnel in favor of profits, and celebrity is all the craze, we have no energy for love or peace. Empathy, emotions are far less valued than earnings or the enterprises that gain greater wealth when their cartoon character are marketed Possibly lifelong friendships are said to be fewer and farther in-between for we know not how to express our feelings. Sameness, standardized salutations, and insincerity are now our signature and stamps. I cannot be sure.
I only know that I long for the day when I can say as I once said, "Won't you be mine" without publicizing the company that printed these words.