Looking back on it all, I suppose that the Valentines Days I remember from my childhood were nothing more than a mid-20th-century marketing ploy to sell candy and paper goods. But it sure seemed like more than that at the time.
At least retailers were a little more subtle with their efforts - waiting until late January to bring out the packets of brightly-colored die-cut paper Valentines for children to take to school and to church and to hand-deliver on doorsteps on the night of February 14. These days, the last refrains of O Holy Night have barely cleared the premises when we are treated to a red and white explosion of plastic-Valentine-everything in our faces as soon as we darken a retail door.
Somehow it just isn’t the same. Then again, neither is my grown-up self. But even so, there was an element of magic to that day when I was growing up. Our school rooms contained Valentine pouches with our names on them, and first thing that morning we spent extra time making the rounds, leaving little paper Valentines for each of our classmates. And once home from school, we couldn’t wait to dive in, open, and read them all. Some enterprising mothers thought to include little waxed paper envelopes filled with tiny candy hearts for their kids to distribute, and there was always the chance that an extra large envelope would show up from someone you had your eye on.
The real show, however, began after dark. In my small town neighborhood, and I’m guessing in a lot of them, we went door to door “stomping Valentines” - a process by which we left a paper Valentine on a friend’s doorstep, and instead of ringing the bell to deliver it, we banged on the door once (hence the stomping) and then ran - sometimes waiting in the shrubbery to watch the front door open, but sometimes not. (I seem to recall a lot of holly bushes in my neighborhood growing up - not exactly user-friendly for hiding.)
And once home, the stomping continued at your own front door. My neighborhood alone contained around 60 children within a four block radius, which translated to a lot of front doors. Just as with Halloween nights of that era, there was no need for parents to accompany us. They knew we would circle back eventually and settle in to open our own cache of goodies.
A lot of Valentines Days have come and gone since then. Our neighborhoods are not what they once were, much less our streets at night. These days my Valentines arrive in the form of red roses - which are a nice upgrade from little packets of tiny candy hearts, and I am always grateful. But my mind does go back every now and then to that one magical childhood day every year that was filled with young hearts and kisses and little surprises under a full moon on a cold February night.
Sweet memories indeed.
Up north we never went door to door on February 14. Too many times we'd have to shovel snow to get to the front porches. That, however, sounds like a fun southern tradition.