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For this year on Valentine’s Day, I scored big by remembering to get everything before Feb. 14, therefore not allowing the wife to think I was reminded about the holiday at work, and only then went and got the goods.
Flowers? Check. Sweetheart box from Reach? Check. Remembering not to apply cherry chapstick before giving her a kiss? Checkmate.
Having the good work done beforehand did leave me with a few spare moments on the day thereof to consider what Valentine’s Day has meant to me over the years. After coming to the conclusion, “Not much,” I decided to dig deep into my psyche and pull out my oldest such memory.
Mrs. Gordon’s third-grade class at Melaleuca Elementary School in West Palm Beach, Fla., was my first really positive school experience. First grade was marred by a broken bathroom door lock incident that had me paranoid for years afterward, while second grade was a disaster due to the fact that the teacher kept calling me Michael, my middle name, because there were already two other Davids in the class – then had the audacity to get cheesed off at me when I didn’t answer her.
(My mom eventually had a fun and rather loud conversation with the teacher that made me realize just how much she had my back. But I digress.)
Mrs. Gordon’s class played another classroom every day on the playground – primarily kickball, using those red balls that had more bounce per ounce than Winnie the Pooh’s pal Tigger on steroids. This was where I first learned that some girls could be impressed with a fellow’s athletic abilities, leading me on a lifetime search to get good at a sport.
Inside the portable that was her classroom, Mrs. Gordon had a clever way to get students to learn their times tables – when you could answer a mixed list of questions ranging from 1x1 to 12x12, you could sign your name to a poster board on the wall. More than 50 years later, I still remember that Diane Cook and David Booker were the first two names written on it; how I my 8-year-old self must have envied them.
I wanted to get on the poster board, of course, but not enough to actually work hard at it – until Robin Hancock (I, too, am astounded that I still remember these names) put her name on it. With space available around her signature, I was certain that if I could write my name close to hers, the stars would align and my first school crush would clearly see that my intentions were honorable.
Valentine’s Day was approaching, which in elementary school meant you brought a Valentine’s card for every student – even the one in the back who didn’t say much and always had a finger in his nose. I went with mom to pick them out – another first for me – but I was really looking for one that contained just the right words.
My mom bought one of those cheap mixed pacts of cards to save money, but also because it contained enough cards that I could use one off the options solely for Robin. While most cards said cheesy stuff like, “Be my Valentine” (for girls) or “Have a nice day” (for guys), one of them happened to proclaim, “I would like to give you a big hug and kiss.”
Bingo! I set that one aside, waiting for the right time to strike. As fate would have it, Valentine’s Day was also the next time Mrs. Gordon checked us on our times tables. I ferociously studied for a change and was raring to go.
Bam! I was the first student to test and nailed it down. I’m sure I stared Robin down while writing my name under hers in our newly learned cursive. Later, we passed out our Valentine’s cards, with me waiting not so patiently a couple of desks away for her to open mine.
“Wow,” she said, reading it and then looking over at me. “I guess you really do like me.”
I have no idea whatever happened to Ms. Hancock, but I do know I was happier that Valentine’s Day than ever before – even without receiving a hug and a kiss. Just the knowledge that she knew my name, and I was in her orbit, was more than enough for third grade.
The only thing better than that is not having to wonder who my Valentine will be for the last 33 years.
David Brown is publisher of the Cherokee Scout. You can reach him by phone, 828-837-5122; email, dbrown@cherokeescout.com; or on X @daviddBstroh.