#Valentines Day in the #50's

Who could forget Valentines' Day in the 50's, I was in the third grade. It was dead winter. The steam radiators where hissing like a room full of cats. The windows were all steamed up and we sat at our polished wooden desks with our eyes glued on the two boxes at the front of the room. One was decorated with hearts and cupids and frilly lace. That was the box for the girls. The other box was less blatant but the hearts and cupids were there in out loud color. We had been filling the boxes for the past week and now the day had arrived when the cards would be delivered. In those days popularity played a big role. There was no mandate that everyone in the class should give everyone a card. That could cause some trepidation and angst for the less well liked students. 

What do you know about life in the third grade. Only that you want lots of cards, and each message has enormous significance to you. Just as you chose the card with the the right message for your friends, you suspect they put as much due diligence in choosing your card. Each packet of Valentines came with a teacher card. My third grade teacher was not nice, and in my child's perception, she was downright mean. I found a card that stated on the front "I think you are awful, awful and so on all over the card until you opened it up and you were to paste in a heart that said "awful nice". Oh, how I was tempted to leave that summation off, but even then I knew the power of a teacher versus a little tot. I succumbed to a higher power. 

When the cards were delivered to our desks we put them into our satchels to take home. Cupcakes with vanilla frosting and little sprinkles on top, candy hearts with messages, donated by the parents, were passed around and the school bell rang loud and shrill as we vacated our desks and headed for the doors. The wood floors were as gleaming as a pond of ice on a starry night, and our footsteps sounded like a herd of buffalo on a western plain. Images, sounds, feelings all stored up in some back closet of our minds.

Once home we took out each valentine and read the message over and over looking for a hidden meaning, a secret admirer or real pal. It was all mysterious and we were amateur sleuths putting the clues together. At the end of a sweet day we looked around for the heart shaped box of chocolates that was mom's booty and shared in her good fortune.