Anniversaries & Cupcakes

Twelve years ago today, I started my first day teaching. I was twenty-two, having recently fled art school to teach third grade on the Navajo Reservation. I had a grand total of zero education classes to prepare me, although I had observed in a second grade classroom for two whole days.

My first classroom had two books and eighteen students who didn't speak English fluently. Sheep wandered across the playground. Our school janitor was arrested during the D.A.R.E. demonstration of drug-sniffing dogs. All things considered, it is kind of amazing that I am still teaching.

Outside of school, Valentine's Day isn't my favorite holiday. It's like the Peer Pressure holiday. Sharing love and affection with a significant other is endearing. It also happens in organically sweet and lovely gestures throughout a relationship, not necessarily on the one designated Relationship Day per year.

Valentine's Day with it's overt and loud declarations of affection seems to be not about the gestures so much as telling everyone else about them. "What did he do for Valentine's Day?" friends will ask over lunch the next day. There is an expectation that the answer will be good. Otherwise, excuses start flooding out.

"She's allergic to flowers."

"He's out of town..."

"No, really, who likes chocolate anyway?"

A few years ago, I decided to straight-talk my boyfriend.

"Here's what I need you to do," I whispered conspiratorially. "Send flowers to school. Have them delivered to the office. Everyone will see them, and they'll be impressed, and they'll think you're an awesome boyfriend. That way we're both off the hook."

He sent roses. My colleagues were impressed. I was relieved. And I haven't celebrated Valentine's Day with a boyfriend since.

Valentine's Day in elementary school is an entirely different matter. It's essentially Halloween Part 2, only with a different color scheme. Kids make mailboxes out of construction paper, glitter, and doilies. They hand out tiny paper cards, some homemade with carefully drawn marker hearts, others glossy with Harry Potter characters on the front.

The rules are simple, no matter the school: everyone gets a card.

I love Valentine's Day in school because it seems to be an entirely different holiday from the one that belongs to grown-ups. This is a joyful celebration where everyone is included. They celebrate their friendships, and they eat cake. It's simple and joyful and lovely. It's the way Valentine's Day should be.

What a perfect anniversary.

Over the past twelve years, I've had some amazing Valentine celebrations. One year, my nine year old boys fought over the Britney Spears Valentine's card. José ended up with it after he said what no one else dared - "I want it because she's hot."

Another year, commercial Valentine's weren't allowed in the school. My eleven students carted markers and watercolors up to our classroom loft for the afternoon. They each left school with gorgeous, handmade odes to friendship.

When I taught on an island, the entire community held a party for the seven children at the school. The kids ran around the community hall, shrieking and dancing while the adults drank red punch and ate frosted cupcakes.

This year, we had a dance party. A string of girls started a conga line. The leader, a quiet and thoughtful girl, held the hamster in her clear plastic ball. The boys sang along to Taylor Swift, forgetting to be embarrassed by listening to 'girl music.' One thoughtful parent navigated the requisite 'healthy' component of school parties with chocolate covered strawberries. It was sweet and lovely. It was exactly what Valentine's Day should be.