Pulling a "Carter"

Doilies, pink construction paper and old magazines littered the surfaces of my 5^th grade classroom.  It was February 13^th and we were making Valentine’s “mailboxes” -- large envelopes personalized with our name and a collage of construction paper and magazine cut-outs.  While some of my classmates rolled rubber cement balls and hung them from their nostrils, I cut out perfect hearts and neatly glued them to my masterpiece.

Everything about Valentine’s Day pleased me – from the mailbox decoration, to choosing the cards (cartoon characters? Disney? Rocky?), and crossing names off my class list as I addressed envelopes and filled them with chalky pastel colored heart-shaped candies.

I even struggled to fall asleep that night in anticipation.  That morning I spotted my mailbox in the line-up underneath the chalkboard tray – dead center -- and couldn’t wait for it to be filled.  We were to do our schoolwork as usual, but place our Valentine’s into the appropriate envelopes before the beginning of the last period.  As the day crept along, I stole glances at my envelope, giddy to notice it was plumper– well, as plump as it could be from a few handfuls of 3X4 inch cards and small candies.

This happened in the “olden days” when designated captains chose the best players first, leaving the uncoordinated to sit for an eternity on the cold gym floor.  It happened before there was teacher-imposed equality to Valentine giving – “if you give to one, you give to all”.  When I was ten, our Valentine envelopes sat like strangers on a park bench - some fat, some thin and others in between.

My ever-growing envelope thrilled me, because it was one of the rare occasions where I felt I could blend in.  My parents -- Chinese immigrants -- didn’t understand all the nuances of American traditions and their frugality limited the extravagance usually associated with holidays like Christmas.  However, a dollar box of store-bought cards allowed me to fit in during these less “important” holidays.

Conformity, of course, is the key to survival in upper elementary school.  The girls either had -- or wished for -- feathered hair and “wings” (Farrah Fawcett’s hairstyle in the hit show Charlie’s Angels).  I was in the “wished for” category, as my “wings” would have hung lifeless because my straight black Asian hair was un-Farrah-like in every dimension.  Everyone had hair combs sticking out of their back pockets, mood rings, Levi jeans (with the waist size and length advertised on the right back hip) and a pet rock inside their desk.  I nervously hoped at least someone else had chosen the same cards as me, so I wouldn’t stand out with “uncool” ones. “Standing out” in any way was the epitome of uncoolness.

So we were surprised to come in from recess, to see one particular envelope bursting at its seams because of an enormous red heart-shaped box.  The shiny metallic box was precariously perched in the mouth of the envelope, much too large to fully fit inside.

The girls all twittered (in the ancient sense of the word) with excitement and surrounded the envelope’s unsuspecting recipient. Who did this?  Who would dare to make such a bold declaration, without regard to standard index-sized cards featuring the cast from Happy Days? Would this person be scorned or rewarded? 

We stood in a circle as Maria pulled the gift loose from her envelope.  We weren’t sure if this was going to be the coolest move of fifth grade, or one that permanently destined the giver to bottom of the ranks.   Either way, we were witnessing something important. 

She opened the box.  The chocolates inside were organized in a gold plastic tray underneath a large handwritten note that simply said,“Love, Carter.”

Maria blushed and swooned, and we swooned with her.  Carter had valiantly stuffed the chocolate into her envelope while the rest of us played dodgeball outside. The gift was the talk of the afternoon… maybe the week.

Sometime between that moment and now, I lost my affinity for Valentine’s Day… and a casual survey of my friends indicates I’m not alone.  “Valentine’s Day is for amateurs,” one of my married friends said.  Some confessed to buying a bouquet of roses purely out of spousal obligation, noting the day’s inherent commercialism, rather than its anticipation or joy. 

It’s understandable. We’re not ten any more. We have responsibilities - children to feed, bills to pay and New Year’s Resolutions to fulfill.  In these days of busyness -- when we barely look up to say hello to the cashier because we're texting or talking on our cellphones – I fear we’ve begun to take all levels of relationships for granted.  And perhaps this realization of my ever growing cynicism is why I recalled Carter’s refreshingly bold act, a move that brought joy to a bunch of 5^th graders.

So, how about looking at Valentine’s Day through the fresh and spirited eyes of a child and pull a “Carter”.  Why not make a grand statement to the person/people you love?  This year, stretch the seams of the envelope and stuff in that huge box of chocolates.  No one ever knows what an act of love and kindness may bring – to the receiver or to you. 

And who knows?  It just might be remembered over thirty years later.