Last Updated 17 Mar 2023

A Discussion of the Idea of Valentines Day Celebration

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A St. Valentine's Day Massacre

Being a person who seemed to make the most of the great moments that life has handed me so far, I thought that I had enjoyed every second of them to the fullest. Whether it was catching up with distant cousins at annual family gatherings, celebrating my birthdays with friends, to simply acknowledging traditional and customary holidays with my immediate family. Sadly, I had overlooked the numerous lengthy talks with my dad, silly fights with my little sister, not forgetting the love and advice my mom have always given me. It's the little moments like that that seem to be overlooked until a heartrending situation occurs and gives a drastic realization of just how important they are and how fast they can be taken away.

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I was in the neighborhood pharmacy with my Dad, looking at cards for the upcoming holiday while he filled some prescriptions. "Dad can you buy me this card?" I exclaimed. In my hand I held a Valentines Day pop-up card that opened to reveal a racecar. Tailing my dad's short leather jacket I begged him to buy this neat card, it seemed to me like a new toy that I would refuse to leave the pharmacy without. Not surprisingly my father denied my request several times, his reason being that if he bought me the card it would not be a surprise and he was logically correct. Then after a few more minutes of begging he finally gave in and agreed on the condition that I act as If it were a surprise when I opened it in front of my mom and sister. I was so happy and fixated on that card that I uttered somewhat of a yes as we walked up to the counter. My father paid for the card and we left the store.

On Valentines Day I would feel loved by everyone. On that day, I was looking forward to obtaining the card that I had picked out from my father. I would receive cards and money in the mail from my grandparents. My close friends and I would exchange secret valentines with little gifts we had made ourselves. This was the one and only day that seemed to bring everyone together no matter how much you hated someone. It seemed as If there was a chemical in the air that helped to embed smiles to each and every person's face. That special day seemed to help mingle the worst of enemies through love and forgiveness. My parents have always acknowledged Valentine's Day with gift giving and the consumption of chocolate. It was a week before Valentines Day in 1995; I was about ten years old and intensely anxious. Every year on February fourteenth to me was as identical to Christmas and birthday's as it could get. With the experience that I discerned many have wondered why I still hold that one day with such great reward.

It was two days before Valentine's Day and everyone as usual around the house were becoming anxious and grinning at each other happily. This year somewhat felt different, and as anticipated my parents once again started to fight. When this began, me and my little sister knew that it was our time to head upstairs to our rooms and wait to be tucked in by either parent. Even though it seemed like an everyday routine I was scared. As I pulled the covers over my head and buried my face in my pillow I could still hear the banging and yelling back and forth between both parents. My little sister was only about three years old and even though she wasn't able to understand the situation she seemed afraid too.

We both waited for a short while until the house was still and we headed back down the creaky steps. The house was so quiet a pin could have dropped and we would have heard it. As we approached the living room, I only recognized my mom sitting on the couch. My dad had gone to lie down in his bed. At the time my parents had explained to me that they were trying to resolve this situation by seeing a doctor known as a marriage counselor. The counselor suggested that whenever my father got angry, he was supposed to rest until he calmed down. The problem was that he would lie down after he had let out all his anger, verbally or physically.

My mother sat me and my sister down and told us that she had decided that the situation wasn't improving. She then told us to gather our coats and a few toys while she packed our bags. We then got into her car and drove to my grandmother's house to stay for the evening. When we got there I asked my mom whether or not she had told me dad where we had gone she then let me call my father from there.

The next morning, as I sat down to a hearty breakfast that my grandmother had prepared. I overheard them mention that my parents might get divorced, but the feeling in my stomach convinced me that they wouldn't. How could my grandparents even discuss such a thing on Valentines Day? Besides, we were talking about my mother and my father. I kept reassuring myself that divorcing only happens to other kids parents. I felt somewhat comforted as I drifted off to sleep that night. As I woke up the next day to get ready for school, I felt sick to my stomach. My allergies to my grandparents' aroma must have acted up. My mother then told me that we were going home and that I didn't have to go to school today. As with any ten-year old you could only imagine how ecstatic I immediately became. As we drove into the driveway I noticed all of the curtains were shut. We opened the door and stepped into the dark house. I looked around for my father but he wasn't there. I had learned that my father went to stay with a coworker.

Where did Valentines Day go? Had I missed it? The whole idea of Valentines Day is to celebrate love and togetherness. Yet the decision to separate had come on this day of love and forgiveness. The sick feeling in my stomach had returned almost instantly as my mind rambled through the questions and possible answers as to what was happening. My mother comforted me and told me my father's move was temporary. However I now knew what was happening; this change was permanent. "It's for the better," my mother told me. I silently told her, "No it wasn't." To try to help me adapt to the situation, my mother invited my father back to the house that night for dinner. We listened to the sounds of silence as we ate.

Nobody felt like discussing what had gone on, I think we all knew this was the last meal we would have together. After dinner I sat down with him on the couch to watch television, but the couch was uncomfortable. My father eventually decided to leave and said goodnight. I walked him to the door and watched as he slowly walked to his car in the darkness of the night. After I watched him drive away, I looked at the fireplace where a Valentine sat for me. "Aren't you going to open it?" My mother asked. I then turned to her with a smile on my face and said, "No, I've already picked it out. It's a racecar". Even though none of the events that had taken place were my fault, at that moment I realized that my dad was right all along, I should have waited for my surprise.

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