My youngest son called me “The Killer of Love” the other day.
I was shocked. All I had said was that I hate Valentine’s Day decorations and that when I see a house with a frilly heart-shaped wreath on its door, my first instinct is to want to blow it up with a bazooka.
Is that so wrong?
It’s not that I hate the concept of Valentine’s Day. We all could use a little more love in our lives and a special time to celebrate it is a nice thought. I think what I really dislike are the trappings.
First off, why so much pink? Used to be, Valentine’s Day was red and white. Good, solid colors. With the age of everything for females having to be pink, the infernal color commandeered the holiday and drove it off a cliff.
Third, I am not a populist. It’s etched into my DNA that if everyone is celebrating lovey dovey stuff, my first impulse is to ridicule. It comes from my father’s side of the family. We Wojciks are a sarcastic bunch.
But, “Killer of Love?”
No, I think not.
When I’m so sick all I can do is stare at the television, my go-to movies are Something Borrowed, Pride and Prejudice, and Bridget Jones’ Diary. I have read many quality, well-written romances and chick lit novels. I just don’t like the old bodice rippers and the predictable, tired cliches. (I’m talking to you, Nicholas Sparks.) As a matter of fact, my work-in-progress is a romance, and there was plenty of love for Catherine in Until My Soul Gets It Right. Will is a great guy, no?
I enjoy sending Valentines. Even as a little girl, I looked forward to making out my cards for the class and coloring my makeshift mail box paper lunch bag with RED hearts. Except for that one year when I pretty much detested everyone in my class, including the teacher. But, once out of the entirety of grammar school’s not bad.
During the dating years, V-Day was a mixed bag. My first boyfriend put an ad in the local newspaper saying how much he cared about me, which was pretty great for my fifteen-year-old ego. He set the bar extremely high. Year upon year, my expectations eroded to the point where it was a good Valentine’s Day if I got a flower, one flower, of any sort, whether it was from the student council flower sale or the restaurant where I had lunch.
When I got married, I remember actually thinking how great it was because now I had a permanent Valentine. Until, of course, you’ve been together so long you’re tired of the same thing year after year and both end up just getting cards.
Being a mother rekindled my enjoyment of Valentine’s Day. I was a room parent when both of my boys were young, and the little kid V-Day parties are the best, watching them deliver their cards, playing games, and having fun. One year, I even managed to sneak in a party with the “We Love Reading” theme. T’was a bibliophilic Valentine’s Day to be sure.
|That's more like it.|
I take pleasure in the everyday illustrations of love in my life and am truly grateful for my husband, family, friends, and all of you.
May you all carry around a little extra love in your hearts this week, dear Bibliophiles.
I know I will.