My First Valentine is nearly 90 years old.
I have been visiting him and making sure he is eating and all of the important stuff . . .
 |
| Look at that sweet face . . . |
I was out yesterday, at Dad’s local grocery, buying food.
I so love buying food!
I walked past a display of Valentine goodies.
And stopped.
There were several heart-shaped boxes.
Beautifully, elegantly - decorated boxes.
Cute, colourful boxes.
Boxes with favourite cartoon characters printed on the lids.
Dozens of kinds to choose from.
Somewhere in the middle was a stack of boxes.
Simple.
Red.
They reminded me of something.
A gift from my Dad on a Valentine’s Day many, many years ago.
Dad always gave my Mom a heart-shaped box of chocolates for Valentine’s Day.
Always.
It was the one special day of the year he was confident in his gift-giving abilities.
The year I turned six was even more special for me.
It was the year that Dad first included me in the gift giving.
At breakfast that morning, he handed my mom a beautifully decorated large box of chocolates.
To much oohing and ahhing from us kids.
Then he smiled at me and handed me a box.
A small, heart-shaped box of chocolates all my own.
I stared at him.
Then at the box.
For me?
All for me?
He nodded. “For my littlest Valentine,” he said.
I jumped up and gave him a hug. Then snatched the box and fled.
The chocolates inside were gone faster than you can blink.
But the box remained.
Because I like boxes.
For years, it held my smallest treasures.
Then, when I moved out, it remained with all the little keepsakes of my childhood . . .
I didn't mention the Valentine's display to my Dad. I thought that when the time came, I would just go and buy one of those boxes for him.
Last night, as we were sitting visiting, he asked me to get him his little sewing kit.
I went to fetch it.
And discovered that his sewing kit was my little chocolate box.
I held it in my hands and stared at it.
I was suddenly six years old again.
Receiving my first Valentine’s gift from my first Valentine.
Such a sweet, sweet memory.
I'm here to help my Dad.
But really, he is helping me.
 |
| A little the worse for the wear, but it is over 50 years old! Like me . . . |
