The Valentines’ Day ritual in my high school homeroom went something like this: Each class elected a “messenger” responsible for distributing cards and letters addressed to their classmates from admirers. Here is where the pecking order of popularity became clear. Athletes, student council members and “cool” kids invariably received a boatload. Those lucky enough to be invited to the occasional after-school soda got a few.
Each year I shriveled with embarrassment when the messenger’s nearly-deflated satchel of greetings had coughed up nay a message for me. Twice, I got a single anonymous note of appreciation. My heart sank; I was sure it was written by my guidance counselor — or the custodian. In my heart, Valentines’ Day was dubbed Black Tuesday or Thursday or whatever the hell day of the week it fell upon.
Life today could not be further away from high school. Tucked inside my wife’s and my bedroom bookcase are two homemade card caddies overflowing with almost 23 years’ worth of letters, photos, mash notes and words of encouragement between us. Peppered in the mix are a few greetings from our Lilly, the Boston terrier. One reads: HAPPI FAVER’S DAY TO DA BEFT DADDI EVR.
I could not feel warmer if I sat in front of a bon fire. A good thing, too, because it’s 24 degrees Fahrenheit outside.
Thursday night, the second snowfall of winter stuck to Portland’s streets. I was giddy. I grabbed Susan, swept Lilly into my arms and whooshed us all toward the window. Embracing, we pogoed up and down and squealed like third-graders as the flurries drifted by.
It was just snow. But it was how we shared it together that will make it “stick” long after the temperate breezes melt it away.
On Friday morning, we slid Lilly’s jacket over her head, slipped her a shred of chicken and exclaimed, “We’re going out in the snow! You’re gonna have fun!” Our bribe and propaganda worked. Lilly sniffed curiously, pawed a topcoat of powder on the sidewalk and did her business.
But she was not done.
As the snow fell, Lilly lifted her head, letting a few flakes settle on her snout. She swept her head from side to side, lingering over familiar landmarks; perhaps her way of processing how much winter had changed her world overnight. Searching for a clue, she looked up at me. I smiled and nodded toward the end of the block. Lilly trotted on. The three of us walked a block and a half before turning back. Susan and I were too cold to continue. Lilly could have kept going.
Lilly does not like it when the rain pelts her delicate nose and ears. She’s getting better about going out to potty in these conditions, but she usually can’t wait to get back inside. But the snow. Glorious snow. It left her wanting more.
Lilly, you leave me wanting more. More of the things in life that challenge me and make me become better than I am. You make me want to frolic over winter’s blanket, pack the flakes into frozen balls and hurl them playfully at my doubts and spread my wings into the unknown. You make me want to thank everyone for helping to bring me to where were are today: you and mommy and me — together.
You make me happy now for the people behind the nameless valentine’s greetings I got in high school. I didn’t keep their notes, but I can read their writing in your eyes.
Lilly, will you be my Valentine?