I used white lacy doilies and red crepe paper to fashion a one-of-a-kind mail box that was to hold all of the Valentines I planned to collect from my fifth-grade classmates.
Way back then, the packaged cards came, not as they do today with all 24 or 32 cards in the same or maybe two designs. They were packaged as 24 or 32 completely different designs.
So, after purchasing my cards, I carefully sat, cross-legged on the living room floor and chose which of my classmates would receive which card. I took very seriously my teacher’s admonition to “make sure you have a card for everyone in our class.”
It took me a long time to match each classmate with the appropriate card. I spent the most time selecting the biggest and best card for the boy in our class who was my favorite.
That boy was Jonathan Phelps. He was the cutest and most popular boy in our class. He ever spelled his name in an exotic and thrilling manner … Jon. He sported an inch-high flattop and he was very clean. The girls in my class were crazy about him.
On Valentine’s Day all of the fifth graders distributed their cards to each other’s boxes. We voted on who had made the finest boxes and everyone had a great time. We dined on homemade cupcakes, candy hearts and red punch. Then the time came to open our cards.
I received lots of cards. My hands held big ones, little ones, handmade ones, funny ones, but not one from the object of my affection, Jon Phelps. I couldn’t understand it. Didn’t he hear what Mrs. Settle had said? “Bring a card for everyone.”
Then I looked up. There he was and he held paper and a pencil. He asked, “Could you write your phone number on this paper for me? I want to call you tonight.”
My heart skipped a beat. This was truly the best Valentine’s Day gift. I eagerly took the pencil and started to write. To my amazement the pencil bent in two. It was a rubber pencil and my true love, Jon Phelps, was laughing at me. I was devastated. Instead of a wonderful Valentine’s Day gift, I got a broken heart and a crushed ego.
Although this incident is ancient history, I still remember how truly humiliated and hurt I felt. But that hasn’t stopped me from enjoying Valentine’s Day. I sincerely believe it has made me appreciate and love those who truly do love me in return.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
Nancy K. Kincaid lives in Kansas City, North.
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