My two-cents worth and then some. An online journal by LP Brown.
A few years ago, I attended the 35th reunion of my high school 
graduating class. It was the first and last reunion I would attend. Of the 350 students in our class, I considered only about 15 of them to be friends. Among those 15, two were my very best friends. In the years following graduation, my best friends and I remained in touch, and shared the highs and lows of our life experiences including intimate details about our careers, marriages, children, deaths in our families, and divorce.
One of my best friends was Valerie. Unlike me, she kept in touch with former classmates, and attended a number of their get-togethers. As the 35th reunion approached, I resisted her attempt to persuade me to attend. “Come on,” she insisted, “You’ll enjoy it.” My efforts to convince her that I could easily live out the rest of my life and not miss seeing former classmates or revisiting a period that I was happy to move beyond fell on deaf ears, so I relented.
Upon arrival at the hotel ballroom, pre-registrants received a name tag bearing our picture that had been copied from the year book. Valerie and I sat at a table near the door “to see and be seen” she said jokingly. As former students and their spouses or companions arrived and took their seats at tables round the room, Valerie pointed out to me those people who she recognized. A couple of alumnae arrived in wheelchairs, while some others leaned on a cane or walker. Occasionally, one of our former pals like Phil, walked in, spotted Valerie and me and joined us at our table. When we were students, Valerie and I were lumped into the group with others labeled as the poor, shy, quiet kids. We were often shunned by the in-crowd, because we lacked their brash assertiveness, stylish clothes, and haughty attitude. Although, overall the crowd that evening looked pretty good, it was clear that the youthful faces from our yearbook were now etched with age. But what was more evident was that after all the years the cliques remained intact. The birds of a feather from high school days past still flocked together.
The mistress of ceremony and the souvenir program acknowledged some of our classmates who were deceased. Some had died in the Vietnam War; and death claimed others under various circumstances. It was good to see in the mix at least two couples who had been high school sweethearts. They had married immediately after graduation, and there they were, still together like Will and Jada Smith. Well, maybe more like Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee.
When the DJ began playing oldies from our heyday, the best dancers from our class got up and showed that they could still strut their stuff. It wasn’t a wonderful night to remember, but it wasn’t a bad experience either. In spite of the fact that a few faces in the crowd triggered flashbacks of days when I endured teasing, rejection, and longed to fit in, my self-confidence that evening was a million times greater than it had been in my youth. I had grown from a timid, introverted girl into an outspoken and confident woman, who no longer needed the approval of my peers to elevate my self-esteem. I remain grateful that I yielded to Valerie’s wishes and joined her at that reunion, because three years later my dear friend died of breast cancer.
Many Baby Boomers can recall when they were in grade school, and the teacher requested that on Valentine’s Day each student bring Valentine’s Day cards to exchange with all of the other boys and girls in class, assuring that everyone in the class received a card. We usually exchanged, brightly colored, flat paper cards, imprinted with simple one line words of endearment, or catchy verses like “Roses are red. Violets are blue. Sugar is sweet and so are you.” In addition, each student made cards for our moms by cutting red construction paper in the shape of a heart, and then gluing white paper to the heart to create a lacy border. We also made valentines which were taped on the door and walls around the classroom.
Fast forward to the years following my high school graduation, when Valentine’s Day brought me gifts of candy, flowers, concert dates, and dinner at nice restaurants — or nothing at all –depending on who I was romantically involved with at the time. Whether people like Valentine’s Day or not, many will honestly admit that it is a day when one can easily get caught up in memories of relationships past and present.
As I have matured, Valentine’s Day has come to mean more than flowers and evenings out. From the wisdom acquired with age, I realize that I received my best Valentine’s Day’s gift ever, some decades ago, on February 12th , when my now grown son came bouncing into the world at 8 pounds and 5 ounces. Although my 20 year old self, was ecstatic about his birth, I thought that the date of his arrival wasn’t as cool as it would have been had he waited two more days to make his grand entrance on the 14th. But my husband and I told ourselves that his arrival on Abe Lincoln’s birthday could signify that he was destined to accomplish great things, and might even grow up to be President of the United States. Well, the closest my son came to the U.S. Presidency was when he proudly stood beneath the Jumbotron on the National Mall during the Inauguration of Barack Obama. So, I didn’t raise a Commander-in-Chief, but my pre-Valentine’s Day baby grew up to be an entrepreneur, an upstanding citizen and a wonderful son, and he will always be my Valentine.
My only other child, my lovely daughter wasn’t a Valentine’s Day baby either, but regardless she too is my forever Valentine. In addition, my parents who raised, nurtured and encouraged me throughout my life are my Valentines; as well as my grandchildren, siblings, special aunts and uncles, cousins, my dearest friends, and especially my Boo. Mine is not just a one day affair on February 14th, I have every day Valentines.
Many Baby Boomers can recall when they were in grade school, and the teacher requested that on Valentine’s Day each student bring Valentine’s Day cards to exchange with all of the other boys and girls in class, assuring that everyone in the class received a card. We usually exchanged, brightly colored, flat paper cards, imprinted with simple one line words of endearment, or catchy verses like “Roses are red. Violets are blue. Sugar is sweet and so are you.” In addition, each student made cards for our moms by cutting red construction paper in the shape of a heart, and then gluing white paper to the heart to create a lacy border. We also made valentines which were taped on the door and walls around the classroom.
Fast forward to the years following my high school graduation, when Valentine’s Day brought me gifts of candy, flowers, concert dates, and dinner at nice restaurants — or nothing at all –depending on who I was romantically involved with at the time. Whether people like Valentine’s Day or not, many will honestly admit that it is a day when one can easily get caught up in memories of relationships past and present.
As I have matured, Valentine’s Day has come to mean more than flowers and evenings out. From the wisdom acquired with age, I realize that I received my best Valentine’s Day’s gift ever, some decades ago, on February 12th , when my now grown son came bouncing into the world at 8 pounds and 5 ounces. Although my 20 year old self, was ecstatic about his birth, I thought that the date of his arrival wasn’t as cool as it would have been had he waited two more days to make his grand entrance on the 14th. But my husband and I told ourselves that his arrival on Abe Lincoln’s birthday could signify that he was destined to accomplish great things, and might even grow up to be President of the United States. Well, the closest my son came to the U.S. Presidency was when he proudly stood beneath the Jumbotron on the National Mall during the Inauguration of Barack Obama. So, I didn’t raise a Commander-in-Chief, but my pre-Valentine’s Day baby grew up to be an entrepreneur, an upstanding citizen and a wonderful son, and he will always be my Valentine.
My only other child, my lovely daughter wasn’t a Valentine’s Day baby either, but regardless she too is my forever Valentine. In addition, my parents who raised, nurtured and encouraged me throughout my life are my Valentines; as well as my grandchildren, siblings, special aunts and uncles, cousins, my dearest friends, and especially my Boo. Mine is not just a one day affair on February 14th, I have every day Valentines.