Awkward Valentine's Day Memories

I've never been a big fan of Valentine's Day. There is something about a cupid flying around with a bow and arrow that kind of creeps me out. After all, how can shooting someone with an arrow be a gesture of romance?

After endless hours of psychotherapy sessions, I believe my Valentine's Day concept was tainted at the tender age of six. I vividly remember the event that triggered my distaste for this love-filled holiday. Although it has been nearly five decades, I still recall the horror of the day.

Like most schools, my first-grade teacher encouraged us to bring Valentine cards to our classmates. My mom was a very crafty person and instead of buying a packet of those cute little Valentine's Day cards, she encouraged me to make my own.

We pulled out construction paper, crayons, pipe cleaners and scissors. We dyed the pipe cleaners various shades of red and pink using food coloring. I walked around with red fingertips for what seemed like an entire year.

I was very excited to take my handmade Valentine's Day cards to my classmates. I had carefully constructed and personalized each one. I made a special valentine card for a boy who I had a bit of a crush on. His name was Oscar. At the time I could not pronounce his name correctly and called him Ox-ar.

Ox-ar - The Valentine's Day Destroyer

We passed our Valentine's Day cards out just before lunch. Looking back, I'm certain the teacher wanted us to run off some of our candy-high during recess. Back in the day, we were allowed to bring homemade cupcakes and candy. My mom dropped me off at school that morning loaded with cupcakes, cinnamon red hots, and pixie sticks. Combined with all the other goodies, our entire class was pretty jacked up on sugar.

During recess, Ox-ar chased me all around the playground. I guess the sugar and syrupy-sweet Valentine's Day card I made for him was more than he could bear. Instead of being a gentleman, he was acting like a teenage boy who had just entered into puberty.

After 30 minutes of being harassed by Ox-ar, I no longer had a romantic crush on the boy. In fact, he was creeping me out. How could I have been so wrong about the boy I thought was the man of my dreams?

A few moments before the recess bell rang Ox-ar cornered me by the jungle gym. He insisted I had to give him a Valentine's Day kiss. I wanted no part of smooching and tried to get away from his clutches. When I refused to kiss him, Ox-ar became furious and pushed me down. He sat on top of me and kissed me, then took off running. I was in shock and started to cry.

My teacher came over to console me. She noticed the bottom of my dress was torn and I had blood trickling down my arm. The school nurse arrived and ushered me to her office. She carefully cleaned my elbow wound as I sobbed.

Leaving her office, I walked past the principal's office and saw Ox-ar sitting in a chair. He was staring at the floor, waiting for his punishment. I tip-toed down the hallway so as not to attract his attention, but my efforts failed. Ox-ar sat straight up, glared at me and stuck his tongue out. I returned the gesture.

Ox-ar was instructed to write an apology note to me, but he never spoke to me again. The following year, he moved and no longer attended our school. When Valentine's Day rolled around in second grade, I came down with a mysterious illness. I'm certain it was triggered by my traumatic first-grade experience. Fortunately, my mother was a wise-sage and did not force me to go to school that day. Instead, we made Valentine cookies and watched soap operas all day.