A Valentine’s Lesson
Today is the first day of February. On the classical radio station this morning, they kept mentioning Valentine’s Day. They mentioned it so many times that it took me back to the time when I was a little girl of six or seven.
We were in elementary school, in first grade. Our teacher, Miss Platt, was a very warm and affectionate lady. She had a kind smile which hardly ever left her countenance. That added to her charm. She made school such a fun and interesting place to be. We learned our letters and numbers in the most interesting way. She would write them on the blackboard. She pointed to the letters, then we sang them! Before each holiday, we baked cookies and decorated them. For Halloween, we cut dough into shapes of witches, goblins, and pumpkins. For Christmas, we made Santas, Christmas trees, and angel cookies, and of course, for Valentine’s Day, we baked hearts. It was such fun to be in her class.
I had an unwanted beau by the name of Freddy Frank. I really did not like him shadowing me. He was a terror of a boy. His hair was always unruly. It stood on end as if it had suffered from a series of electric shocks. Freckles covered his face. He was rather scruffy, never tidy, and he always seemed to get into mischief. He was so rowdy that Miss Platt had him stand in the corner more often than not. He expressed his affection for me by pulling at my pigtails or pulling off the ribbons at the end of them. Once he sharpened a pencil and stuck it in my arm. I still have a blue tattoo-like dot on my lower arm. He was the bane of my life. He would sneak up on me and try to kiss me on the cheeks, which made our classmates sing out,
“Freddy and Stella sitting on a tree,
K I S S IN G!”
Then they would hoot with laughter. Ugh! I did not know how to avoid him. I tried being rude, but it did not work. He made my life quite unbearable!
One morning, at the end of the month of January, Miss Platt came to class carrying a rectangular box covered with shiny red paper and a bagful of other exciting goodies for her latest project. The box had a slot on top, rather like a mailbox. We got very excited. We knew that Valentine’s Day was around the corner! We had begun to prepare for it! On that day, for the next two periods, we were busy decorating the box. In my mind’s eye, I can still feel the excitement and hear the happy chattering of the boys and girls. I picture Miss Platt’s contented smile as she walked from one table to another, leaning down to help us cut our decorations. I can hear our little voices excitedly calling her, “Miss Platt! Miss Platt!” I can almost feel the warmth emanating from the potbellied stove roaring in the corner of the room on that cold winter’s day, and the excitement we felt.
Each morning thereafter, when we came to class, we dropped Valentine cards into the box until it seemed to be bursting at the seams, and yet still more cards were added. There was an air of anticipation in our classroom. Finally, Valentine’s Day arrived. That day, gifts were added as well. There were boxes of chocolates, elaborate pencil cases, picture books, and toys. They were all placed in a basket on the side, tagged with labels of childishly written names upon them. At noon, the parents were invited to attend. They sat down on our little chairs. Under the supervision of Miss Platt, we proudly served our parents the heart-shaped cookies which we had baked and decorated. There were cups and pitchers of lemonade on trays on one of the tables. The parents helped themselves, for none of us were allowed to serve them for obvious reasons.
Afterwards, Miss Platt sat in front of the box filled with Valentine cards. She carefully disassembled the box and called out the names on each card. A student was assigned to distribute the Valentines. There were cards for everyone. Miss Platt received many, for she was truly loved. The parents received cards from their children, and we students received from our friends. My name was called several times. One of the times, it was from Freddy Frank. He recognized his package. He rushed forward to give it to me himself. He proudly handed it to me, looking at my mother for approval. He handed me a beautiful store-bought card and an awkwardly wrapped package tied with string. He blushed as he said, “I made this myself.” His father was an officer in the U.S. Army, stationed in Tehran. I opened the package. It was a wooden little gun made by a little boy whose father was a soldier. He had made it with great pride and love. I was too young to appreciate that offering. I was disappointed. My mother, however, leaned forward and hugged him.
“Why, this is beautiful, Freddy! You made this by yourself?” she asked as she kissed him on his cheeks. His face glowed with pride as he shyly nodded his assent.
That day my mother taught me a lesson about kindness and graciousness. After a serious conversation with my mother later on, she made me realize the actual value of the gift Freddy had given me. His gift came from the heart, she told me; therefore, it was invaluable. Freddy and I became friends, but not for long, for his father was transferred soon after. I never heard from him again.
And on this first day of February, all these years later, I again think of my childhood beau, Freddy Frank, and my mother who instilled in me the value of kindness and thoughtfulness that Valentine’s Day so very many years ago.