A million years ago when I was a child in elementary school, teachers were still allowed to host Valentine's Day parties where moms would come with home-baked goodies and the students would bring "mailboxes" made out of covered, decorated shoeboxes to hold the proof of their fellow classmates' affection (or not).
One year we decorated little paper lunch sacks and those were taped to the edge of our desks so other kids could come by and drop in their cards.
I always loved and loathed this ritual. What if the cutest boy in class passed by your desk and didn't drop in a card? What if the creepiest boy did? What if the girl you thought was your friend gave you a snarky valentine, one with an ugly cartoon character that said something like, "Too strange for me, Valentine," when what you really wanted was one that said, "Best friends forever, Valentine!"
It was a microcosm of life to come -- the day we all go out into the world only to realize that people's affections are truly fleeting, unpredictable, sometimes unsatisfying, and always a mystery.
With that in mind, I debated for a couple of years about whether (and how) to give my children the experience of a Valentine's Day party in spite of the fact that they don't attend a traditional school. I wanted them to have the fun of making a card box, choosing which cards to give to whom, feeling that anticipation and sense of delight that comes from counting up your cards at the end of the day and knowing that someone out there thinks "you're special," "you're neat," "you're a sweetie," etc.
Thus the semi-annual Valentine's Day Party At Our House was born.
It goes like this: For two weeks prior to the party, the kids and I plan what we're going to eat, what sort of goodie bags we're going to give, what sort of crafts or games we're going to offer, and what sort of decorations we're going to use. They make their valentine card mailboxes.
The excitement builds once we actually start buying stuff for the big day, and it hits a fevered pitch once the first crepe paper streamers or dangly sparkly heart cut-outs are taped to the doorways, ceilings, or counter edges.
The jubilation is palpable. The children are now fully engaged in the whole process. Once they sit down to make out their valentine cards for their guests, it's like watching a congressional debate. "Who do you think should get this one?" "I'm not giving that one to her, she doesn't like dogs. I'll give her one with cats!" "What if I can't spell my whole name on one line?" "What color do you think he would like, red or purple?" and on and on it goes.
Such love, such care goes into every single card. Each one is a labor of an earnest heart eager to please a friend and hoping the friend will feel the same and reciprocate with a card of their own.
This year's party was on the same day as choir practice -- my three oldest sing in a choir with six other children, all homeschooled -- so we held the party beforehand.
We made our own heart-shaped cookies this morning, and even my two-year-old had a job as "sprinkler of tiny hearts" on each cookie.
Shortly after noon, the parade of young people coming up my front walk nearly brought tears to my eyes. They were all so excited and eager to show off their beautifully decorated box or bag. One girl had an elaborately painted and beribboned pail. Each child had a stack of valentines to distribute, but we asked them to wait until after snacks and a simple heart-themed craft.
Then the real fun began as eight kids jockeyed for a place in front of a long table in our entryway where the boxes, bags and pail were lined up waiting to be fed.
When it was all over four hours later and the friends had gone, my children sat around and pondered -- scrutinized, actually -- the cards they'd received. They studied the pictures on the cards and I could hear them discussing among themselves the minutest details -- the size of the card, the way the giver signed his or her name, what the card said, its colors, which was their favorite.
Eight valentines -- that's what each child got. Symbols of a memory made that won't soon be forgotten.
No comments:
Post a Comment