By INGRID McCLEARY
It's amazing what a little research can do. In this case, it shattered two Valentine's Day illusions.
My first incorrect assumption was that Valentine's Day was named after that magnetic movie personality Rudolph Valentino. Historians cite the ancient Roman feast of Lupercalia (Feb. 15) as the origin of Valentine's Day. The date was later changed to honor a third-century Christian martyr, Valentine, who wrote a note to his daughter the day before his execution and signed it "From your Valentine," a sentiment which came to symbolize profound affection.
Valentine was beheaded on Feb. 14, C.E. 269, and later canonized (hence the "St."). In 1537 Henry VIII proclaimed Feb. 14 St. Valentine's Day by royal charter.
My other faux pas was the idea that a group of merchants got together in the 1940s and decided to play with human emotions, reel them in through fantasy and romance and boost their business in the process. It's easy to blame commercialism, a decidedly current phenomenon, but it's harder to make it stick when you realize Valentine's Day has been around exactly 460 years.
Today, Valentine's Day means different things to different age groups. For my 7-year-old son, who attends Cumberland Elementary, it means heart-shaped candies and valentines stuffed in a decorated paper bag. My 11-year-old son goes to Sunnyvale Middle, which has a nifty fundraising program where students can send flower/heart grams to other students, so it'll give him the chance to send one to the cute girl he's too shy to talk to in person.
For my 14-year-old daughter, a freshman at Fremont High, it means she'll discover if "there's someone out there who really likes me!"
For single adults, it's the opportunity to impress that certain someone, or if they're already in a relationship, it's the chance to deepen their bond.
However, Valentine's Day puts anvil-sized pressure on men. More than one man has complained they abhor the idea of having to be romantic that one day.
It's hard enough being romantic on regular dates, but to be gloriously romantic while surrounded by hundreds of others right there for instant comparison? It remains the one day where you can actually hear grown men arguing around the office water cooler, "Oh yeah? Well, I can do you one better!" And they're not talking sports.
As for myself, I figured I'd be unaffected by Valentine trappings once I grew up (i.e., married with kids), especially since I preferred live, potted plants over cut flowers (poor things!), and I never cared for heart-shaped jewelry or most kinds of chocolate. But one year I mentioned to Bill I was surprised he'd never given me a heart-shaped box of chocolates.
He replied, "I never got you one because you're always on a diet, and if I gave you a box of chocolates, you'd eat all the chocolates, even the cream-filled ones you hate, because you wouldn't want to hurt my feelings. You'd gain weight and then get angry at ME for buying it for you in the first place." After I got over my initial indignation, I grudgingly admitted he was right.
Nevertheless, the following Valentine's Day (our 15th), Bill presented me with a heart-shaped candy box. But inside, instead of chocolates, was a bundle of cash--and a pair of tickets for a royal train trip to Reno, which included dancing, a five-course dinner, a strolling musician, escort service to and from the hotel, and two nights' accommodations.
I loved it--it was gloriously romantic. Only trouble is, now that he's shown what he can come up with when he puts effort into it, he's now one of those men feeling anvil-sized pressure, trying to figure out how he can top that Valentine's. Maybe he should start loitering around the water cooler.
This article appeared in the Sunnyvale Sun, February 5, 1997.
©1997 Metro Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved.