v-day

Last year, a magazine hired me to write a sappy round-up of people's favorite Valentines Day stories. I was a cynic when I started the article (having only recently -- and rather painfully -- broken up with the person whom I had thought would be my Valentine-For-Life).

I agreed to write the thing only for the rather nice amount of money they paid me to do it, but by the end, I was a believer again. The stories were just too sweet, too sincere, too....romantic for me to resist. I actually ended up enjoying writing it, and it eased some of the crankiness I was feeling on my first V-Day as a single person in more than ten years.

So on the eve of this V-Day, 2005, I've decided to take a stab at recalling my own most memorable valentines -- good, bad and otherwise:

Every year: my father sends me candy because he loves me, no matter what, and he's a good guy.

6th grade: Raymond Pryor gave me a small bag of slightly melted peppermints and a kiss on my cheek.

7th grade: A really strange redheaded kid who in retrospect, reminds me of Napoleon Dynamite, gave me this bizarre, miniature oil lamp with some sort of romantic saying on it. He gave it to me at school, which embarrassed the hell out of me and I'm afraid I wasn't very nice to him.(Betsy B.K.? Stephanie? Anybody remember this kid? He was a boarding student who left after that year.). I've felt really guilty about it ever since.

9th grade: I had this wonderful pal, Bryan Upchurch, who declared his love for me on a daily basis every day he went to school with me. I would tell him we were only buddies, and he would tell me, "that's okay -- I'll wait." So he waited...and waited... and in the meantime, he wrote me a beautiful poem and gave me flowers on V-Day. That was also the year that during V-day week, I got my first real, honest-to-God kiss from one Drew Carrington. Outside, under the stars, cold weather in front of some building on the Webb campus. It was very romantic -- he wrapped me up in this big, camel-colored wool coat and planted one on me. Very memorable.

10th grade: Bo Wagner gave me gold earrings for V-Day. My mother and father made me give them back, which ranks among the most embarrassing moments of high school. They insisted I was far too young to be getting expensive jewelry from anyone. And guess what? They were right. (It took me a long time and motherhood to realize that, though)

That was also the year Eddie Rehfeldt crushed my heart into a gazillion pieces. He was three years older and president of the senior class and adorable and he asked me to the prom and then backed out at the last minute so he could take his ex, with whom he had reunited. It was his loss (as I've told him since, and he's admitted), because I had planned to make it a Very Good Prom.

11th grade: Went swimming in a freezing pond in some park in Nashville with friends on V-Day, who may have included Betsy Babb, Stephanie Jennings, Todd Tolbert and Ben Huddleston. Tate Westbrook may have also been involved. I know there was a VW bus involved and he had one. Details are fuzzy.

12th grade: It was all about Harry Elliott, the most exasperating boyfriend I've ever, ever had, for a wide variety of reasons. But he came through on Valentine's Day, to my great surprise. Do you remember that, Harry? I also got quite a nice Valentine that year from my chemistry teacher, which is a long story unto itself.

Freshman year: Would have been a total loss but for last minute roses from my dear friend David Graham who was at Harvard but knew I was feeling bummed out in TN that week.

Sophomore year:Totally in love with David Rhoden, who drew me a (really good) cartoon, bought me a pitcher of beer, and gave me an autobiography of Tip O'Neill. My kinda gifts. What can I say? The boy knew me well.

Junior year: Having just spent a semester in England, looking fwd to seeing cute boyfriend at Princeton. Drove all the way to N.J. with friend from UT who was also dating someone at Princeton. Proceeded to have the least romantic weekend of my life until then. Effective end of that relationship, although he did come see me in TN that Spring..but by that time I had met Chris Granju, who would become my Valentine for the next 13 years.

Next 13 years: Too many great V-days to count, having married a tremendously romantic person. Lots of amazing love letters, ridiculous cards, gorgeous flowers, terrific jewelry, and fun nights out. But the best V-Day was in 1998 -- our son Elliot had been born on January 3, and was hospitalized for three weeks. He almost died, truly. He was released from the NICU near the end of January, and by February 14, we felt like it would be okay to leave him for 90 minutes with the grandparents while we went out and enjoyed our first meal alone together since the whole ordeal started.

We went to this ridiculously chi-chi French bistro as a treat to ourselves, but the waitress was rude, the food was bad and we ended up leaving in hysterics. For some reason the whole thing seemed really, really funny; we were all dressed up and had no place to go for the remaining 30 minutes of our "free time" before I needed to go nurse the baby. So Chris drove us to Cherokee Blvd., where were parked for twenty minutes and he gave me a beautiful necklace. It makes me sad to wear it now, but I've packed it away for Elliot's signifigant other when Elliot's all grown up.

And so tomorrow is another Valentines Day... My children have made me Valentines at school. I'm making mixed CDs for various new and old Valentines that I'll pass out tomorrow, and someone - not sure who -- brought me flowers. And I'm a little cynical, but also hopeful, being a romantic optimist at heart. So who knows what the day --or week or year -- might bring... I still believe, or in the immortal words of Carrie Bradshaw:

"I'm looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't-live-without-each-other love."

Yeah, what she said.