Story of the Day
"A Valentine
for Laura"
Ann,
a friend of mine, disliked Valentine's Day as a girl. She was plain –
not ugly, but not beautiful. Valentine's Day is not kind to plain girls.
It wasn't so bad in elementary school, when the obligatory thirty valentines
arrived: one from each classmate. She overlooked the fact that her cards
were not oversized like those of the popular girls, and did not contain the love
notes like those of the pretty girls. But later, in middle school, the
valentine exchange was no longer mandatory. Just when the yearning for
romance budded, when the desire for admiration and flirtation became imperative,
and a valentine was needed most, no card arrived. Not for Ann. Not
for plain girls anywhere. Only for the pretty and the popular. At
such a time, stories of ugly ducklings that will one day turn into beautiful
swans do not assuage the hurt and rejection.
As fate would have
it (and often does), in subsequent years Ann did become pretty and turned many a
boy's head. As she received more attention and flirtations, she came to
feel – and therefore to be – very beautiful. But even years later,
grown and with a family of her own, she did not forget those long-ago days of
rejection and dejection.
Today, Ann's family
includes two boys in middle school. For a dollar, their Student Council
will deliver a Valentine's Day carnation. Ann gives a dollar to each of
her boys to buy flowers for their girlfriends. Then she adds another
dollar apiece with the instruction: "Pick another girl, one who is
nice but plain – someone who probably won't get a flower. Send her a
flower anonymously. That way she will know that someone cares, and she
will feel special."
Ann has done this
for several years, spreading Valentine's Day a little beyond her own world.
One year, Laura,
who was plain to behold but beautiful to know, received one of these gifts.
Ann's son reported that Laura was so happy and surprised, she cried. All
day long, she carried the flower on her books and chattered with the other girls
about who her admirer could be. As Ann heard the account, she too had to
dry her eyes -–for she remembered.