Well, it occurs to me that for the shortest month of the year, February certainly has its share of holidays. Maybe that is designed to distract us from this dreadful weather. This year in particular is packed tight with special days. We start with Groundhog Day and then move through Mardis Gras, Ash Wednesday, The Chinese New Year, Valentine’s Day, Lincoln’s Birthday, President’s Day and Washington’s Birthday. And, that does not even include the feast of St. Blaise when Catholics are supposed to get their throats blessed. I think the timing of that feast is set to keep us from choking on fish bones during Lent.
If you have been paying attention thus far, you already know that Groundhog Day is my favorite holiday. But, just a dozen days later, we encounter my least favorite holiday – Valentine’s Day. What? How can a civilized American be against a day that celebrates love? Well, for the same reason I do not like country clubs, first-class seats on airplanes and Notre Dame. It is elitist and exclusionary. Whenever the 14th of February rolls around I always seem to be on the outside in the snow looking in through the plate glass window that separates those in love from the rest of us poor schmucks. And, unlike a country club or Notre Dame, I cannot even buy my way in. What’s more, our culture really has not presented us with any suitable alternatives.
For example, persons of the Jewish faith celebrate Hanukkah while Christians celebrate Christmas. African Americans have Kwanzaa. Even utter pagans can revel in the secular nature of the holidays, or, as a last resort, create their own holiday such as the Castanzas did with Festivus. I suppose I could go that route, but complaining and indulging in self-pity just seems so much easier and more satisfying.
It is not that I have never been in love. On the contrary, I am almost always in love. And, on a few rare occasions, the object of my desire has even liked me back, at least a little. But, even the best of times always seem to be in a low trough during Valentine’s Day. I would estimate that no more than 4 or 5 times in my life have I been in a mutually smitten position on the 14th of February. Not that that is all bad, mind you. I have probably saved enough money on flowers, chocolates, dinners and gifts to fund a substantial portion of my dwindling 401(k).
Cupid is viewed as the traditional Valentine’s Day icon. The diapered dandy floats around in the sky aiming his careless arrows at unsuspecting mortals.
Well, Cupid may work for you, but not for me. My Valentine’s hero is none other than Good Ol’ Charlie Brown, hopelessly pining away for that little red-haired girl to whom he has never uttered a word, whom he knows virtually nothing about and who knows even less of him. But still, he waits, camped out faithfully by the mailbox. Maybe in that sense, Valentine’s Day does share something with Groundhog Day. They both represent hope in the face of seemingly hopeless circumstances. However, the difference is that while the promise of Groundhog Day is always fulfilled as part of the cyclical nature of life, the whimsical wishes Valentine’s Day usually wilt like so many sacrificial flowers. So, here’s to you, Charlie Brown. You are indeed a good man. And, to the rest of you, I hope you choke on a chocolate bon bon.
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