The Elementary Politics of Valentine's Day

For many, especially those who experience an overwhelming feeling of loneliness around the second week of February, Valentine's Day simply serves as a “Hallmark holiday,” an excuse to wear an excessive amount of pink and red and curl up on the couch to watch How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days for the seven(teen)th time. But from the ages of 6-11, the “Day of Love” held a slightly different meaning.

Back then, the beginning of February meant that it was time to dig up old shoe boxes, miscellaneous glitter pens, and glue guns to manufacture mailboxes with the highest bling level possible. There was no question over whether you would get a valentine; everyone in your class gave one to everyone in your class. Over time, it transformed into a competition over who could bring the best, biggest, and most expensive two inch by two inch valentines. 

I still remember Valentine’s Day in first grade, when I walked into class with my paper bag full of pink and red squares with hand-placed heart stickers acquired from the dollar store. I had stayed up until 9:30 the night before finishing my valentines, and although some of them had turned out a little sloppy, I was still proud of my final product. So, on the morning of February 14th, I hung my backpack in my cubby, readjusted my bright pink sweater, and marched into my classroom, cards in hand. The room was buzzing, desks presenting brightly colored mailboxes in the forms of gumball machines, minion heads, and unicorns (I had opted to decorate mine with my many Barbies). Once the time had come to begin trading valentines, my friends opened their bags and out came candy, toys, and temporary tattoos. Immediately the shame set in. How could my paper cards compare to the extravagance of my friends’ cards? I left that day with a bag of toys and inspiration for my following year’s endeavor. 

Second grade I kicked things into high gear. I convinced my mom to expand my budget, and this time created my cards out of hot-pink cardstock, personalized each with my classmates’ names, and scotch taped a Dum-Dum lollipop on the front. Now I was prepared. Unlike the previous year, I entered and left the classroom that day with the same level of confidence in my valentine-making abilities.

Somehow, despite being such a small part of elementary school, Valentine’s Day had an immense impact on my experience growing up. I have a small scar on my wrist reminding me of a hot glue gun incident from one February 14 in fourth or fifth grade. I come across images of myself holding my refurbished shoe boxes with pride. Valentine’s Day will always serve as a call back to memories of the pungent smell of Elmer's glue and the rush of pride after you bring the “best” collection of valentines for your class. And those memories are a lot more fun than a lonely movie marathon.