An Unhappy Valentine's Day, Part I

NOTE: Children’s names in this story have been changed to protect the innocent and the mean-spirited.

The conversation in the car was light hearted on Valentine’s Day Eve:

“I’m going to ask GIRL to be my girlfriend,” my son stated confidently. “I want to get her a special card.”

“Say you want to go out with her, not be your girlfriend,” my daughter corrected.

“Mom, if she says yes, will you take us bowling?” Jamie asked. I nodded in the front seat, trying to keep my eyes on the road.

“I’m jealous, Jamie,” Jordan joked. “I’ve been single for three months now. I don’t even have a boyfriend, or anyone who likes me.”

The minivan careened slightly into the left lane. I course corrected and addressed my daughter’s jaw dropper. “Single? Jordan, you’re eleven.”

“But, mom, all my friends on Facebook are ‘in a relationship.’ Everyone but me.”

I quickly ticked-off the long list of girls' names who, to my knowledge, were not yet engaged at the middle school. “No, mom, not THEM, just everybody else.”

I tried to stay on topic yet change directions. “What do you like about GIRL, Jamie?”

He looked out the window and thought a moment. “She’s very nice to other people. She’s pretty and she’s funny.” I knew GIRL, and she was in fact all of those things.

We went to the store, picked-up standard boxed Valentine’s Day cards, then Jamie headed toward the ‘real’ card aisle to select his special card. It was perfect: A cute puppy, holding a heart-shaped balloon, that stated simply on the front of the card “You’re special.” The sentiment inside simply read “Happy Hearts Day.”

He neatly wrote his signature in cursive, and printed a short note: “GIRL, I like you very much and you are very nice,” and affixed four heart stickers on the inside flap.

FLASH FORWARD TO AFTER SCHOOL ON VALENTINE’S DAY:

“Mom, get me away from this school,” my daughter insisted as she climbed into the car. This didn’t sound like it was going to lead to a Hallmark storyline.

“You know how Valentine’s Day is supposed to be all sweet and nice? Well, I thought I would be really nice and give a bunch of people Valentine’s Day cards. When I gave one to BOY, who I thought was nice and he liked me, he tore up the card, SPIT ON IT, and threw it on the ground. I hate my life.” Jordan stuck her muddy boots on the dashboard, tucked her knees under her chin and stared out the window.

My stomach twisted and felt knotted. Spit? Really? I wanted to track down his parents and share what a lovely child they had raised. In my parent of the year award frame of mind, I wanted to find the kid’s jock strap and fill it with itching powder. In a calmer frame of mind, I’m sure his parents would be mortified, just as I would be if someone shared that information about my child with me.

“A lot of people threw my Valentine’s on the floor, Mom,” Jordan confided. “There were so many someone picked them all up and gave them all back to me. I had to throw them all away. I hate Valentine’s Day.”

I felt like someone had pulled the wings off my baby butterfly. In her bright moments, Jordan is joy, energy and light personified. She was so excited in the morning, so truly demoralized after school.

“Jordan, I know there’s nothing I can say to make you feel better, and I am so sorry that I can’t. What those kids did was terrible, and they don’t deserve you as a friend,” I explained. “But your REAL friends, your true friends, are the ones who matter. They love you, and they would never hurt you.”

“I still feel like crap,” Jordan stated, at which point I reminded her she owed me a dollar for swearing.

“I know, Jordan. And the worst part is it won’t stop hurting right away, but it will stop soon.”

We drove in silence for almost twenty minutes when I realized Jordan hadn’t even reached over to turn on the radio or flip on the iPod. I looked over to see her blotting her tears away with her hoodie sleeves.

 “You know you’re my favorite daughter, right?” I asked her. She looked at me cross-eyed. “I’m your ONLY daughter, mom.”

“I know. Just imagine how much you would suck if you weren’t my favorite,” I explained (for some reason, me using the ‘s’ word makes Jordan laugh). And she did laugh, if just for half a second.

Later in the afternoon, Jim and I called Jordan up onto our bed for a talk. “You know how bad you’re feeling inside right now? Well, that’s the reason we’ve taught you to NEVER be mean to other people, whether you like them or hate them with every ounce of your being. Nobody deserves to be treated like you were today.”

“If Dad or I ever found out that you spit on someone’s card and threw it on the ground, we would make you go to their front door and apologize. Then you would be grounded,” I explained. “Are we totally clear on that?”

Jordan agreed, and as hurt turned to anger she turned her aggression toward killing zombies in Dead Rising II. The lovely butterfly possesses mad skills in zombie slaughtering. Slowly, her goofy humor and bad jokes returned, and almost all was well again.

Today’s lesson: Middle school can be vicious, and hard to bear life lessons lurk around every corner. Don’t be afraid to grab your child’s hand now and then to guide them down the path.

Besides, my son’s Valentine's Day went equally badly with GIRL, but that is for tomorrow…