Why Valentine’s Day Sort of Sucks

It’s not a good look to say that Valentine’s Day sort of sucks on Valentine’s Day. It sounds like I’m sitting around sipping on a big glass of Hater-Aid. So, I waited for the day after V-Day to say it sort of sucks. And it does. But not for the obvious reason of my singleness.  For the last decade, I have been uncoupled more than I’ve been coupled, so I’ve always done my own thing for Valentine’s Day. Sometimes I’ll catch an early movie, or have dinner with another single friend. I don’t give much thought to V-Day except as it relates to my students. V-Day is a big day for middle school students, and that bothers me. How in 7^th and 8^th grade do my students come to expect the exchange of trinkets and gifts to demonstrate their love and affection for each other? 

On Friday, I was driving to work when I saw a young man, small in stature with this gigantic teddy bear! I laughed and I shook my head. He was truly struggling carrying that over-sized stuffed animal. Well, low and behold, when I got to school I found out that it was one of our students carrying the bear. The principal made him leave it in the counselor’s office until the end of the day. She knew that a bear that size would cause disruptions throughout the day. I looked at the bear and I kept thinking, what does it mean? 

New Year’s Eve and Valentine’s Day are the biggest couples holiday, and my middle school students are not old enough to “show their love” on New Year’s Eve, so Valentine’s Day is their day. The boys are out shopping for candy and cards to give to their girlfriends and the girls are waiting for their gifts. This is why Valentine’s Day sucks. There is the expectation the boys will purchase gifts for their girlfriends. What lessons are we teaching our children? Are we telling them that love is bought and sold?

I remember Valentine’s Day as a child. You brought the cutesy Valentine’s Day cards to school and passed them out to your friends. If your parents were feeling especially generous, then they bought you candy to share with our friends. It was sweet for the most part, but there was also a level of meanness because every child didn’t get a card. If you didn’t like so-and-so, he or she didn’t get a Valentine.

One year, maybe first or second grade, every boy in my class gave be a Valentine Day card. And I had a meltdown. I cried because I didn’t like all of the boys in my class, and I thought that by giving me a card, they had to be my boyfriends. The teacher sent a note home, and my mother and I had to have a talk that evening about why the receipt of cards from the boys did not mean that they ALL had to be my boyfriends.

I can laugh today, but I was confused by this idea of “love”. And perhaps it is my own trauma about love that fuels my issues with V-Day and my students. There were boys who caught my attention in junior high, but I didn’t have a boyfriend. It was strictly prohibited, so if a boy had given me a Valentine’s Day gift I would have been trying to figure out how to sneak it in the house, or better yet just leave it at school. In my tenure as a teacher, I have witnessed many V-Days over the years, and it ain't nothing nice sometimes.

When Valentine’s Day falls on a weekday, the girls come to school all dressed up, and the boys come bearing gifts to show their love. And not every girl who has a boyfriend gets a gift. To be among her peers, and not be acknowledged by her beloved is social suicide. I’ve seen a many angry and/or sad girls on Valentine’s Day. I’ve seen boys come bearing gifts only to be rejected. This breaks my heart. What are we teaching our daughters? What are we teaching our sons?

Adults and Valentine’s Day is one thing, but for adolescents whose hormones are out of whack, it can be too much.Why are girls expecting gifts? What are they obliged to give in return? Where are boys supposed to get money from to buy gifts? Call me old-fashioned or whatever you like, but this idea of “love” in middle school makes Valentine’s Day sort of suck.

Valentine’s Day and the Full Moon

Even though folks try to make us believe that Valentine’s Day is a day of three Musketeer type of love for one and all for love day, it’s really not. Yes, those that are single do girlfriend night, or spend that time with their kids, but it is hands-down still a Romantic Love Holiday. Since I’m not all booed up, it was going to be a regular Friday for me. I had a full weekend schedule of work, belly dancing, and my nephew’s party so I didn’t have any lag time. I had to get things done in a timely manner to stay on schedule. 

I had noticed the fullness of the moon the night before. And I've always believe that there is a connection between weirdness and a full moon. So, that should have prepared me for the unexpected. But I forget and attempt to proceed in life like a "normal" person, but something always reminds me that life--especially mine--is full of unexpected twists and turns. And mine, for what ever reason always have some comical angle.  

On Friday, I tried to make a mad dash to the nail shop to get a mani/pedi for my performance on Saturday. Some belly dancers perform in shoes, but most dance barefoot, so I had to make sure that my feet were presentable since they were going to be on public display.

 Let me preface this by saying I don't like the neighborhood nail shops because I like the pampering experience as opposed to the cattle call, but I had to work on Saturday before heading out so I had to get in where I fit in. I found a nail shop close by the job; it was empty. So, I thought I could get in and out and get home in time to allow my sister to go out while I stayed with our mother. Easy-peasy. But I should have known better because things are rarely easy with me.

 While I was getting my pedicure, it seemed like a bus load of people starting coming in. The manicurist finished my pedicure, and started on my nails. In typical Stephanie fashion, I messed up the polish on two of my nails when I bumped the fan trying to dry the first coat.  My manicurist seemed new, and didn’t know how to fix it without starting over. She took the polish off, and freshly painted the two nails and instructed me to let them dry, and that she’d be back.

She started on this elderly woman's pedicure.  I knew the manicurist I said in my mind, I know she is not going to do this woman’s entire pedicure while I’m waiting for a second coat and top coat on two nails? I had already paid and tipped!

was trying to multitask because the shop was getting crowded, and the elderly woman had been waiting. So, I was cool until I was still sitting there 10 minutes later.

I walked over to the manicurist and asked her about my nails, and I happened to glance at the woman's feet and was horrified! She had long, snarly, twisted nails that look like something out of a horror movie. I reminded the manicurist that she still had to finish two nails. She asked me if I could come back. I told her, no. My schedule already felt like too small body shaper and I was in there on borrowed time, so when was I supposed to come back?

 As she sat down to polish the two nails, I looked and noticed that she still had on the gloves she had been using for the pedicure. When I brought it to her attention, she immediately snatched the gloves off. I asked for something to wash my hands. She sprayed them down with alcohol. I didn't even bother to wait for the nails to dry, I left.

When I got to my sister's house, she had decided against going out. She decided to go and get some Mexican food. I fell asleep on the couch waiting for her to get back. It was past 8:00 p.m., so, my mother was already in the bed for the night even though she decided that she wanted a taco.

By the time my sister returned, and we had eaten, it was after 10:00 pm. I had to work Saturday, so I decided to go home. We live within one block of each other, so all I had to do was get in my car and drive down the street. 

I knew that I was going to be moving non-stop on Saturday, so I needed some sleep. I went to bed and drifted off to sleep. It doesn’t take long. Between fatigue from work and the crazy weather, the Sandman in my dreams had all of my attention until I was awakened by noises around 1:00 am. My niece does hair in the basement, and sometimes they just sit around and talk. So, I thought it was her. Since I had to get up in the morning, I needed them to turn the noise down. She was at home.

The house next door to me is empty, but teenagers had found a way to get in at some point, so I thought maybe some kids are in the house next door. I was too tired to call the police, I just prayed for sleep and my prayers were answered—temporarily.  As soon as I got into a good sleep, the voices came back and they were accompanied by footsteps. I listened to make sure that what I was hearing was real, and that I wasn’t dreaming. The footsteps were clearly from above my head.

I was supposed to be home alone, so who was in the building with me? My mother was at my sister’s. My nephew was at my sister’s. My niece was in her own apartment across the street. I wasn’t dreaming. The sounds coming out of the apartment were real! My heart started pounding in my chest. I crept out of the bed to get my phone, and to make sure that the alarm was on. I thought about pressing the panic button on my alarm. I decided to call the police instead.

I dialed 911 and explained to them that I lived in a two-flat, and that the upstairs apartment was currently vacant, but that I could hear noises and footsteps. 9-1-1 operator asked me if the police could get in the outside door, I told her no, that I would have to open it. She asked if I wanted her to call me when the police arrived. I said. Yes. I sat in the bed clutching to phone, heart beating fast, and imagination running wild. I called my niece back and whispered in the phone, “Somebody’s upstairs. I called the police. I need you to call them back because they haven’t come yet.”

“Maybe, it’s your nephew,” She said. 

“No, I left him at his Granma’s house.”

I hang up and try calling him anyway. No answer. 

Then I get a text alert. I’m sorry if I scared you t.t. It’s me. I’m upstairs.

I called him and let him have it! Yes, I understood that he was sorry, but it was a situation that could have gone all wrong : He was a 17 year-old walking the street at night; I was going to send the police into the apartment not knowing that he was there.

Just as I hung up from him, the 9-1-1 operator was letting me know that the police were at the door. They had exited their vehicle and were searching the perimeter of my house. As the police officer emerged from the back of my house to talk to me, I noticed that it was an extended family member. My sister and her friend were married to brothers, and here was the son of one of the brothers all grown up and following in his father’s footsteps doing police work. Our families had been friends forever! I remember when his mother was pregnant with him, and now he was serving and protecting. He gave me a big hug and told me that he had to make sure that his people were ok. I went back to bed, but I couldn’t go back to sleep. The adrenalin was pumping through my body, so I had to wait for it to calm down knowing that I still head a full day in front of me.

As it turns out, there was somebody in the apartment. But it wasn’t a burglar; it was my night owl nephew. I shake off what could have been, and I’m glad that my story has a happy ending. Since childhood, I have always believed that strange things happen during a full moon. And, I am convinced that they do! So, that was my Valentine’s Day Full Moon Tale.