We always have the heart candies
The other day, I stopped at the local Panera for a drink and saw a group of mature gentlemen that I knew sitting at their usual table. As I headed toward them, I overheard them discussing girls. Notice I didn’t say women because they were talking about their youth and reminiscing about the first time they noticed girls.
One of the guys said he was about 15, two of the others said 11 or 12, but the guy who initiated the conversation said three. They all started to laugh until I chimed in and agreed with him that I, too, had begun noticing girls at about age three.
Our neighbors, Bill and Pauline Gillespie, had a niece who was a few years older than me; Janet Tremba was her name. I distinctly remember seeing her arrive for a visit with her aunt and uncle and thinking, “Wow, Janet is beautiful.”
Even though my regular bath night was Saturday, I petitioned my mother for a Monday morning bath. Let me explain. My grandmother’s house was without plumbing until I was about ten, and that meant Mom had to drag in the big wash tub, heat water that she got from the hand pump on the sink, and then scrub me down with a homemade washcloth. (Oh, the love of a mother.)
After I was sparkling clean, she asked me what I wanted to wear, and I insisted on my little tan onesie with my brown little boy dress shoes and matching brown socks. She asked me why I wanted to get so dressed up just to play, and all I could do was smile and say, “Janet.”
I ran outside, sat under a giant maple tree at the corner of Maple and Water Streets, and waited for her. One half hour passed, but I was committed and persistent in my desire to play with Janet, the older woman.
About 45 minutes into my wait, a giant bird — an eagle, or maybe a vulture-pooped all over me. The last thing I remember about that day was running into the house crying inconsolably and never getting to play with Janet.
Move the clock forward to first grade, and the true pursuit of these mysterious other humans became real. In fact, if it wasn’t for the opposite sex, I might well have been a Fulbright Scholar, but they became the center of my attention every day in every way. I was captivated by girls from the first day of school until, well, forever.
Valentine’s Day was, by far, the most challenging day for me each year because it often outed my feelings for some girls and hurt the feelings of others. We used to buy a pack of cheesy Valentine cards that were one sided and fit in tiny envelopes. It was up to the sender to meticulously sort through them and attempt to direct the most meaningful saying toward the girls that we felt the most intently attracted to that year.
Here’s the problem, my friends. I was attracted to almost all of them because they weren’t dirty, smelly, dumb boys. There was Linda, and Barbara, and Patty, and Connie, Colleen, and Nancy, and Brenda, and Lela. The most horrendous situation of all came near the end of my grade school experience when I was also madly in love with the teacher, Miss Johns. I was mercilessly torn and unable to decide which one of my love interests would actually receive the most serious Valentine card.
Luckily, though, if we completely screwed up the card thing, we always had an opportunity to redeem ourselves with those little Valentine heart candies. Ah, sweet redemption.
Last week, however, I learned that the unthinkable had happened. Necco went out of business. There would be no candy hearts to distribute this year.
So, won’t you please, “Be My Valentine.”
Nick Jacobs of Pittsburgh is a Principal with SunStone Management Resources and author of healinghospitals.com.