;)
How To Turn a Blog Comment Into A Very Long Blog Post
Friday, February 12, 2010 at 11:05AMEveryone hates Valentine's Day. I don't hate it; I just don't celebrate it, and I really never have. The Donor and I, I don't think, have ever once really 'celebrated' it. I mean, he'll run out on Sunday morning and buy me the obligatory Bunch of Asparagus, and I'll give him the obligatory Redacted. But we'd do that because it's Sunday. We'd do that because we are wasted. These things work for us.
Besides, I think mothers day is way more fun.
But a few weeks ago, my friend Earnest Girl wrote a post about Valentine's Day, and I left her a little comment, and this morning while I was asking Twitter to decide for me whether to bitch about getting kicked out of Canada 90 days before the reason we moved there in the first place, or bitch about explain Google Buzz, my other friend Deb Rox asked me to post about that old comment instead.
*ahem*
Why I Love Valentine's Day; A Tale of Love in the Time of Awkward Adolescence
Do you remember that kid in school? You know who I'm talking about...the one that always smelled bad, or the one who has some weird gastroenterological disorder that made them poop 8 times every day, or the one who's parents forced them to dress like Puritans, or the one who always wore clothes that were 4 years out of style, or the one who got free breakfast and lunch at school, and never once had a dime to their name? You remember that kid. I was that kid.
For the record, I always smelled good.
But I wore my brother's hand-me-down underwear, and the girl at church's hand me down clothes, and school breakfast and lunch were, on most days, the only food we saw, and I was being raised as a good little subservient cult member, and I was either getting the shit beat out of me mentally or physically, depending on the amount of coffee brewed on any given day, at home, or watching it happen to my brother. I had the self-esteem of your common household ant-trap. And I had, like, one friend. Maybe.
I was not a popular child. I was the elementary school's class graduating class of 1985's whipping post. I still have nightmares about elementary school, not kidding.
Part of the thing with being raised all culty is that we didn't celebrate holidays. Any of them. Ever. So I got to spend an extra super fabulous day at home every time Christmas parties or Halloween parties or Valentine's Day parties rolled around. And I didn't really care so much. I was so thoroughly brainwashed that I pitied the fools who were damning themselves for eternity with their cotton ball Christmas trees and their Berry Berry Kix garland strings. But still, none of it helped my feeling that I was standing outside of my childhood, looking in. I could see what being a kid was, I just could never touch it. I was never a part of the world I lived in, and that is a hard way to be a kid.
My teachers were always respectful enough of my mother's my beliefs that they never made me a Jack O' Lantern for the wall, and I never had a picture on a construction paper bulb hanging on the foam core Christmas tree. They always excused me to the library with a smile and a nod when there were Evil Pagan Holiday things to be done in class. At least I had an out....Ash, the kid next to me who didn't stop farting for 4 years straight, he just had to sit there and take it over glitter glue festivities.
It could have been worse, that's all I'm saying.
Sometimes, my teachers would try. In 4th grade, my teacher bought me a Clifford the Big Red Dog book for my birthday, and held on to it for an extra week, and wrapped it in regular paper with a very birthdayish ribbon that could be easily disposed of before I got home, and told me as much. "I'm giving you this because I chose to celebrate your birthday, because I think you're neat, but your mom doesn't need to know. Tell her it's for homework," she said to me after the whole class was dismissed one day. I kept that book, hidden under a mattress, until high school. It's the little things.
But there is a difference between some Big Sneaky Adult Authority Figure acknowledging your presence on the planet and your peer group doing it. There was one of her and 30 of them, all day, every day. Thirty of them with rocks, thirty of them with new clothes and shoes every January, thirty of them to remind me that I would never, ever belong in their tribe. They were just kids; they didn't know any better. In the days of 67.39% Tolerance, the runt of the litter took it hard, and me with my old clothes and stringy hair, and poor little Ash who always smelled like half-digested curried goat, we were the runts.
But for each of those 30 kids, there was at least one parent behind them with the legible handwriting and the purse strings. Enter Valentine's Day.
Maybe the teachers knew better, and maybe the kids knew better, but the moms and dads who bought the Valentine's sure didn't. You never really know beyond your kid in elementary school, especially in the 1980's. So every year, I would return to school on the 15th of February and be greeted by a desk overflowing with cards. Cards that had my name scribbled on them in dried-up marker or stubby crayon, cards with a piece of gum lovingly taped to Scooby Doo's buttcrack or Jem's Truly Outrageous Star, cards with sugar coated chalk hearts attached that said U R Cool or I <3 U, cards from every single kid I ever prayed would be my friend late at night, once the world slept and I was left with own, private black isolation.
On February 15th, I belonged where I was. I was a normal kid who got normal cheap cardboard inclusion in the world. I was a kid in a class and everyone knew my name, they'd all acknowledged that I existed. I stayed late every year on the day after Valentine's; I ate every piece of candy and traced my name on every card with my fingers before I threw them all out so my mother wouldn't see, and for one lousy day in my lousy school year, I smiled.
So maybe obligatory redacted is kind of lame, and maybe blowing $2.99 on stupid cards your kids will hand out at school and promptly forget about is wasteful, but every year my kids and I sit together and we carefully write every name on every card, and the names we don't know so well get an extra heart scribbled in crayon on them, because maybe that's the kid who needs a Valentine to show up in their desk just so they can remember that they exist. And if it takes one really annoyingly Pepto-pink day on my calender to make that happen for some kid, I'll deal. And I'll smile.
Reader Comments (102)
I adore this. You should stick it on the linky here:
http://girltalkthursday.com/2010/02/11/valentines-day-love-it-stab-it-whatev/
I can't imagine growing up like that. Catholicism was weird enough and it wasn't all that weird.
I'll think of you on February 15th.
I'm all crying now, dammit. I wish I could go back to 1985 and be your friend. For serious. Love you, lady. <3
You just totally gutted me.
This isn't *my* story, but I think it probably was my husband's, and for the same cultish reasons... (His dad was a Pentecostal preacher and alcoholic. Yeah, win/win.) It has taken a lifetime to undo that damage. The loneliness and isolation you masterfully describe matches the words and feelings I have witnessed my husband painfully wring out of his soul again and again.
Dang, girl. You're my new favorite, um, EVERYTHING.
Jumby is and likely always will be that little boy who the other kids forget about simply because of his physical and mental impairments. It's really hard to be the cool kid when you are strapped into a chair and drooling on your bib.
So, regardless of how annoying I find those tiny little Valentines cards, we sit together and fill them out painstakingly.
Because maybe the other kids will remember him. Because maybe another kid is feeling left out the way Jumby must.
Because life is too short not to celebrate everyone around us, even if it's just with one little piece of cardboard.
To the Jumby's and Mr.Lady's of the world.
That's what Valentines for kids is all about.
My God. "The names we don't know so well..." Reading your words is a redemptive experience, so thank you. And your 4th grade teacher, whereever she is, jewels in her crown.
I was that kid. We were poor poor poor.I always wanted froends.My grandma Mae always made sure to buy a box of valentines so I has something to pass out.
Dammit, you have me TEARING UP, woman!!!!!
*sniff*
Oh, Mr Sister. You are so absolutely, fabulously real and I adore you for it. I will never forget when you lofted M3 up on your shoulders so he could see better at the event we attended. You had never even met him. You just knew he needed a lift up to better appreciate the view. You are so in tuned to the needs of others and your humor about it and lack of martyrdom is outstanding. Your family is beyond blessed to have you and so are all the rest of us. Happy Day to you. Lovin' you EVERY day. And thanks.
found you via deb's tweet. i love this. thanks for reminding me that i may accidentally do something small that may mean something big. xoox
This made me cry.
Thanks for sharing this story, and reminding us what holidays (Hallmark though they may be) can mean to kids.
I love love love this. It's a different perspective that I honestly hadn't thought about. I won't resent those cards so much this year.
I kinda hate you right now. Because I was *just* gloating that I only have one more year of dealing with the V-day crap and then you go and write this. Thanks for the humility!
That was amazing to read...I love the teacher who bought you the Clifford book and I love that you are able to write about a painful time with such honesty, humor, and candor. I wish we could go back to the 4th grade just so I could be your friend!!
Dang, girl...you choked me up with this one. I was one of those poor kids with the free school lunch, too. I was lucky enough to have a mom who hung out with hippies and loved to sing, but I also remember how hard our life was and being screamed at because sometimes it was all too much for her, single mom with 4 kids living in the ghetto. What I remember most from my childhood is being scared all the time, and sometimes I feel like I still am.
Seems like you turned into an amazing adult for all that you endured as a kid. Loved this post.
Beautifully written post. You described the lonely cut-off feeling so well.
My situation was similar. Except that I went to the cult school. So the normal kids thought I was weird because of my parents' rules, and the cult kids thought I was a heathen bound for hell, because I fought being brainwashed.
You couldn't pay me enough money in the world to relive those times.
Thank you. For sharing your story, and for the extra hearts on the cards whose names you don't recognize as well.
You know, when I meet a woman who is so cool and rad and beautiful (really) and sweet and funny and then I find out that she was bullied and picked on and excluded as a kid?
I have SO MUCH HOPE for the kids I know who are tortured by bullies and kid-sized asshats, feeling like outcasts and like things won't ever get better.
You rock in the hardest way, yo.
xo
I'm not even supposed to be at work today and now I'm sitting here in tears. Jerk.
I'm printing this and taking it home for my Monkeys to read. I hope they never, ever forget that every kid in class has their own story when they go home at night, and not all of them are sunshine & daisies.
And because my daughter gets picked on for being "weird" and no matter how hard that is for her I want her to understand that it does get better and, also, that there are still kids that have it worse than she does.
Thanks for sharing this. It means a lot.
You are amazing. What a beautiful post!
Wow. I can totally relate. Great post. *smiles*
I am speechless and in tears. thank you for that perspective.
Best thing you have ever written. BEST. Maybe it's because I could relate and empathize. I wasn't systematically excluded, and I didn't have to wear hand me down underwear, but I WAS the whipping post in school. The kid that the weak kids would pick on to make themselves feel better after getting wedgied by the cool kids. Being the only Asian kid (who killed the class curve and was fat with a bowl cut too - don't say I don't play up the stereotype to a T) in a working class Irish town kind of awards you that role by default.
Also, this is why I hate the new policy of not allowing you to write kids' names on valentines cards. Every year, even the girls who called me a Chunk (get it? a fat chink - go ahead laugh, I do too. It's a clever joke) would take the time to write my name on a card and put it in my shoebox. The heart flutter that you get from that, even though it was mandated, is priceless. Nowadays, to make the process faster and easier, they don't let kids write names on the cards. That way, they just make their down the aisle and plunk any card into any shoebox. "Dear Friend, from Marcus" just isn't the same. Sigh.
Thanks for sharing your deepest feelings and exposing your soul. My heart breaks for all the lonely people out there. A little love goes so far. I enjoyed reading your blog.
You took my breath away, and BusyDad nabbed my comment before I could write it. So basically, I got nuthin' now. Thank you for this powerful reminder about the power of inclusion. I can't stand the no names policy on the Valentines either. I remember spending HOURS trying to decide who would get which card from my pack and then writing the names on the envelopes. This year, my Son wanted to make one "special" Valentine, though he clearly knew that it wasn't exactly allowed. So, he signed his name in cursive instead of print on that one. And he stuck the bought card into the homemade red heart envelope using two stickers instead of the one that was on every other. And he put it on the top of the pile, so he would be sure to be able to find it easily. And then he gave it to his friend Henry. He reassured me that he didn't tell anyone else that Henry got the special Valentine. "Did you tell Henry?" I asked. "No," he said nonchalantly. For him, it was just enough to know he'd taken the extra time. I hope every kid in the class had someone take that extra time over their card. I would have done so for you.
*smooches*
This makes me cry and smile at the same time. You are truly awesome.
You are such a creative, vivid, storyteller. I won't just say writer, because I can hear your voice so well.
That was a beautiful, tragic, fantastic piece, but for the second time today I am saying this:
I'm so sorry you had to endure so much pain. I know it's probably made you who you are etc...but those losses run deep. I wish you'd had more Big Sneaky Adult Authority figures and little overt children friend figures.
Still my secret twin. Hannah and I were talking about this very thing this morning: she was saying that she thought it was stupid to make the kids bring a card for everyone, and I told her about the time I got two valentines in the entire second grade, and one was from the teacher. Rockin post. Now kill me because I just said rockin.
I have been a little grumbly planning 2 valentine's parties which have been moved to Monday due to snow. Arranging and rearranging volunteers for the parties that will now take place at exactly the same time but in two different locations. I will be running in between them to make sure they go according to the plans.
But now I have a little better attitude and I have a more important focus. I am going to be on the look out for the little kids who are just like you were. I'll give them a couple extra hugs and tell them how special they are. I know who they are already.
Thanks for reminding me.
I want to agree with Jim - we weren't allowed to write the "To" on the cards this year, and I didn't get it. Not one bit. I was half tempted to break the rules, but didn't want my kid to get in trouble for something I didn't agree with.
Regarding your gorgeous writing, I, too, can relate. And this was really really beautiful.
great post. sad. true. uplifting. you should apply to hallmark, already. sniff.
Everybody hates Valentine's Day? I don't. I love it - I mean, I don't have much to do this year, but usually I went all out. And since I would also go all out for random days during the year, too, it wasn't a case of me just being lazy and only showing my love on one day.
I'm with babybloomr, crying and gutted because other than not being poor this story fits me to a T. I even have my own equivelant to your clifford book. I don't have kids yet but this post gives me the urge to go out and buy cards, just so I can give them away. Is that creepy? BTW, Babyboomr let your hubby know he's not the only one that goes over it again and again, I do too I am so blessed to have such a loving and patient husband, as I am sure he is you.
Hi, thanks for this post. I was that kid too... but minus the culty stuff and plus one each negligent single atheist working mom.
Beautifully written. Thanks for the story - I will remember it and to take that extra time with my kids.
Hugs and a happy Valentine's Day from Texas!!!
I was the kid who never GOT to hand out the VD. Heh. Cards were too expensive; crafts, too participatory. Instead, I was the kid that the kids didn't like and got I'd wager, a quarter of the mandatory cards that were supposed to be handed out - because the other single parents in the class though my dad was an ahole, and if he wasn't willing to spend the time/money, neither were they. So, I grew up really disliking VD. Heh.
Until I got my first boyfriend and he was like, OBLIGATED to send me a rose through our junior high's VD-student counsel thing. And then the next boyfriend had to, too. Then the fiancé. Then, even after we broke up, The Ex often does SOMETHING. Now I can't stop people from red hearting me.
I have no clue what the point of this comment was, but to avoid babysitting. And apparently, to whine.
This is a perfect example of why I am so excited whenever I see a new post on your blog.
Good for you to have come from that and gotten to this. Your kids are very lucky!
wonderful post
That was beautiful.
As the class geek and joke growing up(we had a computer at home for my dad's job, but my mom dressed me like a 50 yr old Catholic librarian), I can relate. One day a year kids had to acknowledge I existed, beyond making fun of me or trying to shove me down the stairs or excluding me from the lunch table. So, I hate doing it, but I sit with my kids and help Jimmy address his valentines and try to explain to Bri the little heart stickers are to close the Valentines, not decorate them, but bless her stubborn heart, she NEVER listens to me. We stick the candy on them and place them in a bag to put in their backpack so the kids in their class who everyone thinks are babies or scardycats or just odd get a little acknowledgement that they really mean something.
Yet another reason why I <3 you.
Wishing all the kids out there have a Mr. Lady moment on Valentine's Day.
My God. This just....
And the CLIFFORD BOOK PART???
My God.
I love you so.
OMG. I'm crying. Maggie's tweet sent me over here. Beautiful piece. Cheers for giving the misfits a day to love themselves.
Sincerely,
A Misfit
That was really amazing. The human spirit never ceases to amaze me.... As long as there are talented writers like you to share the stories and feelings.
I'm really kind of speechless. I am gutted, too.
This is the first post of yours I've ever read and, wow, what a writer. This was wonderful.
You just made me feel really, really happy about the 100+ cards we had to do. And the mama in me wants to back and give that little girl a big hug. Being a kid is hard stuff.
Dammit, you've made me all teary-eyed.
I found you through Kathy at The Junk Drawer's share on facebook.
I was always a square peg trying to fit into the round hole, so I can relate, although no cult things, just part of a large Catholic family on food stamps and free lunches back in the 60's. And I would've been your friend! Big hugs
What an amazing woman you are. Xo
oh shit. now I'm crying.