Happy Valentine's Day

Ah, me. Love.

It comes in all forms and sizes. Depths and emotions. Valentine's throws red hearts and chocolate candies to the consumers. Hallmark and the FTD florists hope to make a killing.

It changes. It grows. It diminishes. All depending on the person in love, the person who is the recipient of the love, or the reason's for the love.

When I was seven I 'loved' Adam Cartwright. Oldest son on Bonanza. Enough so, that I actually got Purnell Roberts' (the actor who portrayed him) record. Did you know he was a singer? Most people know him as Trapper John, M.D., but I loved him as the young, dark haired cowboy. A hero in my young eyes. My sister liked Little Joe, but not me. I liked the dark brooding type over the cute flash Michael Landon played. (By the way, Purnell's rendition of the Christmas hymn, 'Do You Hear What I Hear' was decent, but I don't remember liking any of his other songs...)

When I was in high school I had a secret crush on a guy who was a year older than me. Another dark, good-looking, quiet type. I don't think I ever spoke two words to him, but I remember looking forward to catching a glimpse of him in the halls at the school. He wasn't a soccer player, he wasn't in band...there just wasn't any common ground there for me to even attempt a 'hello', so I figured it was hopeless and he would probably not notice me anyway, so I just oogled and chalked it up to teen infatuation.

But that put me in the mood for being in love. So I made the mistake of dating J. Bowers. I didn't ever really like the guy. He liked beef ravioli from a can, wore too much Elsha cologne and was pretty much a dullard in my book...but he filled a brief curiosity that soon wore thin and I kindly broke up with him. Hoping beyond hope that not all boys were like him.

I dated Mike C. after that, which was pretty much doomed for failure from the beginning. First and foremostly because the man had blonde hair. I realized with him, that even with his superiority complex and his lame excuses for being another jerk (although in different ways than Bowers), I couldn't get over the blonde thing. So in order to break up with him, I turned myself into the biggest airhead I could because I knew that being brainless would send him running the other direction since his joy in life was reading the Trib, and throwing big words into small sentences.
(The clincher for him, by the way, was when he poured out his heart to me about how rotten his life was--I could hear violins in the background--and he got frustrated with me (I guess I wasn't being sympathetic enough or saying the right comforting phrases), and asked "Doesn't ANYTHING bother you??" and I said, "Yes, peanut M&M's without the peanut." (Seriously...you buy the yellow bag of candy because it has peanuts in it, if I wanted a solid chocolate M&M, I would have grabbed the brown bag...sheesh). Sometimes at night I think I can still hear the screetching of tires as he ran away from me as fast as he could....)


After these few experiences with love, infatuation, irritation, learning about boys who wish they were men...I gained new perspectives, decided most guys had jerk tendencies, and realized I was really good at having guys think it was THEIR idea to break up. Which makes it all nice and tidy. It became a skill, like anything else.

With all that, I remember that when dating my now-husband and then leaving on a mission..I found out he was seeing someone else and I wasn't hurt so much as shocked that he would think anyone was as cool as me. So apparently none of the previous relationships I had did any lingering damage to my ego. I came home from said mission and became friends again with now-husband and eventually he regained his senses and realized there WASN'T anyone as cool as me, so he married me. Isn't he the lucky one? ;)

So now, as a married woman who has teenaged daughters, I start to wonder what craziness they will have to endure before they finally get to that stage of finding the person they love enough to think eternity is a good idea.

I've warned them that most guys their age are, well, jerks. And guaranteed them that at some point in their life a boy (or three) will make them cry. But my oldest daughter still has romantic notions and I know wishes that she could have her very own 'valentine' this year. No one specific--so she says--but the idea is starting to look interesting to her.

Makes me a bit nervous. I'm not looking forward to my daughter's first heartbreak. I'm looking less forward to her first real boyfriend and all the worries that come along with that.

But no one can dodge Cupid's arrows for long. I just wish Cupid would wait until my kids are twenty-five before aiming their direction.