Mary Ann Fitzmorris / L’Observateur / February 26, 2000

The kids came home with valentines last week. There’s something about the wrestler Socko, fist up, menacing the words, “Here’s your valentine!” that makes me long for the good old days.

I don’t exactly remember what “the good old days” means as it applies to valentines. But I don’t recall those yesteryear valentines resembling what I saw in the bags my kids brought home.

Today’s valentines are all part of the great American licensing machine.

Besides the wrestlers, who all offered hearts made out of mud (I hope), there was the Looney Tunes bunch, The Simpsons, Rugrats, Scooby Doo, Winnie the Pooh, and, of course, Pokemon.

There was actually an unidentifiable little girl with a traditional message on one, and I was happy to see Bambi and Thumper still around.

That bit of nostalgia was countered by the appearance of Brittney, looking fetching in one of her skimpy camisoles, offering nothing but a shy, “little girl” smile. I guess we should be grateful there were no words on those! The boys leaned heavily on sports heros to convey valentine sentiments, and the manly guys offered Monster Trucks, which I have to say looked a bit wimpy draped in hearts.

One of the valentines had the telltale appearance of the computer, but it was that famous mouse looking all mushy, so I’m sure it wasn’t off the Internet. The words FREE and Disney just don’t go together.Computer cards might have been free, but they were certainly more work.

Kids wanting to be creative, but not original, had the Internet to draw upon. The bag contained a few computer-generated sweet wishes, whichadded a more personal touch. Some of them were very well done.We took this homemade thing to absurd lengths. A year or two back I noticed valentines which had a space for a little treat. It seemed like the valentine bag contained more and more candy each year.

Since my kids are culturally deprived they can’t really identify with all those characters. I suggested we just wrap a few candies in festive cellophane and tie it with a curled ribbon. This seemed like a good family project.

Besides, offering candy instead of valentine cards made us look generous, I thought. My real motive was far more selfish. I wanted to save my kids the trauma of having to write their names 30 times, and I absolutely wanted to save myself the aggravation of making it happen.

Another of the reasons I took this route was my lack of interest in going to several stores to look for just the right package of valentines.

Instead, we wound up going to different stores looking for just the right wrapping, and spent three times as much.

My son took no interest in this at all, but my daughter was eager to help.

At first. The challenge of curling ribbons frustrated her, so she retired after only three bundles. I was left with 60 small piles of Jolly Ranchers.Naturally, I couldn’t take the simple route and use clear cellophane for the entire lot of valentines. There was pink cellophane for the girls and bright red glitter wrap for the boys.

This made the count of children critical, so I had to keep badgering my son for a gender rundown of his class.

The pink cellophane ended two little pouches short of the needed amount, creating the moral dilemma of offering a girl one in the boy color, which I imagined was unthinkable, or sending two odd bundles of clear cellophane.

By this time I was so over the valentine project those two girls were lucky they didn’t get their Jolly Ranchers wrapped in a store receipt, tied with a neatly curled ribbon, of course.

The next day I realized the absurdity of my valentine idea as I saw my kids walking into school as the only two kids resembling Santa’s lost elves, carrying a sack of valentines. I chuckled to myself that I was actually doing them a favor. As they get older they’ll be impossible to embarrass.At home that afternoon my son announced that he was short two pouches. I apologized and assured him it would NEVER happen again.

I’ve reformed. Next year for us, it might even be Slime People saying “Blaah!” on those cards. And I’ll rubber-stamp their names.

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