Guys hate it because they never know if they are doing too much or too little. Roses? Maybe she's allergic. Candy? She'll bitch about getting fat. Yeah, balloons, teddy bears---or god help us, jewelry. And why? Because if you don't, you will feel/look/or be thought of as a jerk.

So let's forget today for a moment. Let's take a trip in the way back machine---to the first time when we actually thought Valentine's Day was a cool thing. Grade school---we had been doing class cards for years---the moms insisted. (And I was grateful for that---or I might never have seen a one!) And all of sudden you're looking at the REAL cards---the ones that say DARLING or SWEETHEART or HONEY on them. And unbidden, you see a face in your mind. For Charlie Brown, it was the little red haired girl. For me, it was Kenneth, the traffic patrol kid.

Now Kenneth was interesting. He was smart---and well liked. No one seemed interested in beating him up, ever---and he wasn't large or anything. He got along with everyone, made great grades, and never spit at me---not once. So when my sister dragged me to the Hallmark store to find a perfect card for her guy, I thought of Kenneth while I looked at the cards. And I wanted him to be my Valentine. That simple.

I didn't want to kiss him...(ewwwwwwwww) I didn't want to be his girlfriend, or any lame thing like that. But he was simply a nice guy in my orbit that never made me feel stupid, and it suddenly became VERY IMPORTANT to get a card from him that said, "Be Mine". So I plotted and planned. I had a week to get the money together to buy a REAL card...and the fancy ones cost a lot---$2.00 in 1973 was a big chunk of change. To a thirteen-year-old with no allowance, from a blue-collar family of six it was a fortune. So I ran errands for the neighbor ladies, hunted for pennies, and slowly acquired the money.

Now I was not thinking of Kenneth's reaction...or even his wishes. Thirteen-year-old girls don't work that way. Today, I would know to my socks that a thirteen year old boy would be mortified to be singled out with a lavish card from any girl, especially in front of a class full of giggling buddies. Not a nice thing to do---but I was a girl. And having a Valentine was important. Half my class was mutant males, some of whom had not only spit at me, but also on occasion socked me one. Slim pickings.

So I had the cash...now to get the card. I went down to a local card store after school. The array was dizzying. He wasn't my husband, or brother, so I could skip those sections. But aside from that, I was a stranger in a strange land---ignorant of the customs, and deeply afraid, in typical thirteen-year-old fashion, of doing something STUPID. Red cards blazed at me---fake lace doilies---nope...too frilly. Photos of flowers...oh please...

And then I saw it...a big dumb bear holding a heart that said Be Mine. Short and Sweet. Bingo. I walked up to the counter and tried to ignore the woman's simpering smile. She had a big beehive---the kind you just knew she wrapped in toilet paper each night---and peach colored lipstick on her teeth. I tried to look older---more mature...say 15? Didn't help.
"Look Gladys---isn't she cute? Got a card for her sweetie!"

God made me live.

Next I went home and locked myself in the back bedroom. And I took the card out, pen in hand...and froze like a rock. What the heck was it supposed to say? The "Dear Ken part I figured. But the rest? "Love Lisa" was out---no way. It was closer to "Like Lisa than anything---but that didn't work either. I finally settled for "Your Friend, Lisa" But even that seemed like I was pushing it. No little X's or O's...those were reserved for the kids going "steady". That rule I knew.

I stuffed the card in the envelope; amazed that again at what the bit of cardboard had cost me, then hid it in my bookbag. That's right. HID. I knew my brothers would torture me for such an act. That was in their job description. My sister would think it was "Too Cute"---also a kiss of death. My mother would have made me go to confession---to confess what, I have no idea to this day---and Dad. Oh boy...Dad was sort of old fashioned. Girls were allowed to date after 20, say? I had a pretty good idea that his BABY giving a boy a Valentine would be taken poorly. And we will not discuss my peers.

That night I made out all the class cards. The next morning, I took my seat---and realized that I had to find a way to get that card---big sucker that it was---in the Valentine box. It was all covered with red paper and doilies. The teacher had cut a hole---a small one...just right for class cards---but tiny for my offering. I waited until just before lunch, when the class thundered for the coatroom, grabbed my stack, and made a beeline for the box. No time for pretty---I smashed that card through the slot, and raced for my coat, congratulating myself for being so smart.

The next day was it...Valentine's Day! And it wasn't until the teacher picked Ken to play postman that my stupidity hit me like a stone. Yes...I had gotten the card into the box---but now it would be coming out. And Kenneth would see what a huge card I had gotten him. And maybe he didn't spit at me---but that didn't mean he liked me---certainly not more than anyone else. I had asked him to "Be Mine"...and there was an excellent chance the answer would be "NO."

Well I give him this. Ken was a class act. He opened my card, looked at it, and put it with the rest. He never said a word---didn't thank me---thank god. And life went on. Can you say "Anti-Climax?" But I grew up, and learned the rules. In fact, I got off cheap. When I started dating, I found out that guys were so freaked by Valentines Day, they would actually break up with you the week before, to spare themselves the ordeal...and a week after, ask you out again. (I'm giving them the benefit here, ladies)

The point of this meander is that none of us know exactly what to do on Valentines day---of how to act, or what to say. No matter how old you are, as my daughter deftly pointed out the other day, there's a part of you that once was thirteen. And in some way, still is. Yes. The deck is stacked. Yes, the wheel is rigged. You could make a huge fuss for your sweetheart, and learn that you had overdone. You could make a small gesture, and leave them feeling like you really didn't think of them much. Valentine's Day is for lovers...and there's a reason for that.

When you get all moony, "My Love", completely absorbed in another human being, you really don't care how you look. You buy the largest most obnoxious card you can imagine ever giving another human being, and when you say "Be Mine", You damned well mean it. You think of them constantly, and every love song becomes "your song"---even the sappy ones. And guys---if she's half as crazy for you, she won't care that she's allergic. She'll be delighted---and she'll hug your head off. Ladies don't expect the men folk to get all excited about the red silk boxers. And maybe they will get flustered and "aw gosh gee"...but they do love us. And they do try.

So this Valentine's Day, let's give lavish points for everything. If a project or exams are hammering your sweetie, male or female, understanding is a wonderful gift---good for all occasions. At risk of being branded a total romantic lunatic, the point of Valentine's Day is love. If you have one, God Bless. If you're still looking, hang in there. Don't believe the hype---and don't get sucked into "I gotta have a date for the Prom" thinking. That worked crappy in high school---and works not at all in real life. This year, I'm sending "class valentines" to all my friends---because I do love them. And it might not be the same---but it still feels good to know that someone cares.