Valentine’s Day is among the holidays of the year that still has
the power to stir memories of youth, no matter how long ago.
Valentine’s Day is among the holidays of the year that still has the power to stir memories of youth, no matter how long ago.
Take Valentine’s Day of 1940, for instance, and more specifically the one observed at Marshall School in Toledo where the first-grade class had been properly instructed in the significance of the day through the previous week.
Miss Hildebrand had carefully explained the martyrdom of Saint Valentine in an era so remote it seemed to have no connection to us. She also had propped up on the table adjoining her desk pictures of gallant men paying court – “paying court” was her expression – to elegant ladies through the ages. Many of the men pictured were bewigged and wore knickers with long stockings. All the ladies had full gowns and looked away demurely as the men bent over their outstretched hand.
Miss Hildebrand must have been in her 60s then and was a maiden lady, so any court paid her had probably been sometime around the Spanish-American War. Even so, we all loved her for her unfailing goodness and her attention to our needs.
She dabbed her eyes as she talked glowingly of the true love of strong men for their ladies fair. She had a kind heart and her enthusiasm was contagious. The girls all nodded as she talked and seemed to especially thrill at the sacrifices upon the part of the men.
We boys were of a more practical nature and bided our time for the cookies and punch that were to be served at the conclusion of the valentine exchange.
While Miss Hildebrand waxed rhapsodically about selfless love, Wayne Helms nudged me with his elbow and nodded toward the window. A fresh snowfall had started and gave every evidence of being a heavy one.
At length, Miss Hildebrand dabbed her eyes a final time, smiled brightly and announced it was time for the exchange. We all arose and milled around to put our valentines on the desks of the recipients while our teacher beamed upon the seeming chaos.
Every student received a valentine from every other student, so each of us had around 40. Most were inexpensive and ran heavily to comic scenes. I recall that one pictured a cat with hearts for eyes with the legend, “No kitten, I want you to be my valentine.”
We compared them while we ate cookies and drank punch over a pleasant 15 minutes. Then Miss Hildebrand arose and said, “Class, we have a special project this afternoon.” As two girls distributed sheets of heavy red paper and wreaths of lace, Miss Hildebrand said, “Now we are going to make valentines for the dearest ladies in the world – your mothers.”
She walked between the desks as we fell to with scissors and paste. “Put a comma before ‘Mommy,’ dear,” she told the girl in front of me, and guided another boy’s hand as he cut out a heart a little on the ragged edge.
Class was practically over when the last of us finished. “Now each of you give your mother a big kiss with your valentine.”
“Good day, Miss Hildebrand,” we said as we trooped out into the wonderful world of winter. The valentines impeded our snowball fights until one boy hit upon the happy solution of sticking them inside his coat to leave his hands free and we all followed suit.
At home I greeted my mother with a kiss and presented her with my masterpiece, which I had removed from my coat and smoothed over a moment earlier. She responded as all mothers do.
I wish I had told someone else my feelings on that long-ago day, someone who would have been a wonderful mother. However belatedly, I say it now: I love you, Miss Hildebrand.
