This Sunday, Americans will be celebrating Valentine's Day. Well, sort of. In reality, card manufacturers and florists will be celebrating Valentine's Day, while most people will be crying about the fact that there is no more NFL football on Sunday for a long time.
And when they are not being bummed about the end of football, Americans will be having mixed feelings about Valentine's Day. They, like myself, will debate: Is it a nice, romantic quasi-holiday, or is it the demon spawn of Satan himself?
Of course, we all know that Valentine's Day is named after St. Valentine, a medieval-era dude who became a saint after he invented those little pastel-color candy hearts that say things like, "Be mine," or, if you buy a different kind of bag, "Bite me."
I, myself, am inclined to think that this day named after St. Valentine is really kind of crappy. I have this sentiment about the holiday based on one minor event, namely, my entire life.
Part of me really thinks the day sucks. For most of the Valentine's Days that I have been alive, I have not been in any sort of relationship that would qualify me as having a valentine. For the many people who are in such a predicament, Valentine's Day serves as a reminder that you are ALONE, and all of the cards and stupid freaking flower commercials serve as a reminder of this, seeming to make the statement "neener neener" directly to YOU.
And, quite frankly, during the times in my life that I have had what would be considered a valentine, the holiday has been even worse.
For much of my only adult relationship, which lasted the better part (and I say better referring to quantity, not necessarily quality) of three years, I was away from my girlfriend. I went to Stanford; she went to BYU. Seeing as these colleges lack the foresight of giving students the time off and paying for travel costs so students can see their sweethearts at other schools, I spent all three Valentine's Days in that relationship away from my girlfriend.
Now, I can imagine few things worse than being a guy in a long-term relationship on Valentine's Day. Even in the 1990s, when women have equal rights and can help threaten an entire democracy with 200-plus years of history with cigars and the phrase "presidential kneepads," guys are expected to do the most when it comes to holidays such as Valentine's Day. Flowers and candy are, in most cases, the minimum expenditure a guy can expect to make in a heterosexual relationship if he wants to avoid the woman getting angry and severing something.
And when you are separated from the girlfriend, as I was, this expenditure can get even worse. I had to not only get flowers, but I had to get them delivered, which is expensive. I also had, of course, to buy candy and all sorts of other stuff, and then stand in line at the post office to have it shipped. And then I had to deal with the consequences when the package got to my girlfriend late.
This stuff, however, was doable, because of romance and wanting to do these things and spending money in the name of love and all that crap. What was really annoying was when Valentine's Day came, and everybody was taking their loved ones out for a nice romantic dinner while I stayed in my dorm room alone eating Cheetos and watching the special Valentine's Day episode of "Caroline in the City" or some other horrible show because my GIRLFRIEND was in freaking UTAH.
Not that I was bitter or anything.
Placing all this bitterness and these cranky feelings aside, though, another part of me thinks that maybe Valentine's Day is not so bad.
That part of me is the part that sees my grandparents. If I can be serious for a moment (which is debatable), my grandparents will be celebrating their 65th wedding anniversary this Sunday. This is a huge deal to me, seeing as I have not done ANYTHING, including breathing, for more than 24 years.
In their 65 years of marriage, they have produced five wonderful -- albeit highly strange and silly -- children, who in turn have produced two equally (at least) strange and silly grandchildren (so far... get with it, Eddie and BJ).
So, in other words, it comes to this... Valentine's Day has left me cranky for 24 years... and their 65 years soundly beats those 24 years. So, in conclusion, I guess the holiday has some merit.
Just leave me the bag of hearts that say "Bite me," and I'll be fine, thanks.
Bill and Effie Boegle are third-generation Nevadans (or something like that) who were married on Feb. 14, 1934. Their grandson Jimmy has a weekly column which appears here Tuesdays. He can be reached via e-mail at jiboegle@alumni.stanford.org.