February 14th

The youth group at Maple Springs United Methodist Church went to the beach every summer. Myrtle Beach.

Jack Hughes drove the bus. Miriam Wilkins cooked all the meals. Elinor Heermans was the Director of Christian Education and responsible for everything else.

It was neat. Not the greatest experience of my youth, but it wasn’t a week at prison camp, either.

Except for the one night Elinor and Jack and Miriam took us to the Pavilion and the Magic Attic.

Well, I’m not a Myrtle Beach guy. I like the beach. Seashells. Sand castles. The absence of neon lights. Lengthy UNO games. Myrtle Beach? Not so much.

For an overweight teenager, without a girlfriend, the Magic Attic was the most depressing destination one could find. A nightclub for kids. The beautiful people flocked to the dance floor and flirted with strangers.

For me, it was a four-hour prison sentence, each hour served consecutively.

Ever since, any notion of love and romance has conjured the desolate feelings of isolation and loneliness I first encountered at the Magic Attic.

During high school, Valentine’s Day was sweet, but I couldn’t help but succumb to the inevitable envy that boiled up whenever I saw “those couples” exchanging teddy bears and roses and Hallmark cards.

Marriage changes a lot of things. Love letters give way to grocery lists. Romantic getaways are rescheduled to accommodate piano lessons and basketball practice.

For Jeffrey Griffin… marriage emphatically altered my perception of the day. I was no longer condemned to an evening of solitary confinement. Vikki loves me. I’m the man. Her guy. King of the world. No matter what I do, we’ll fall asleep between flannel sheets and the world is fine.

Better than fine, actually. We do flowers and balloons and dinner. We enjoy the romance. We like each other. Vikki no longer says, “You don’t have to go crazy.” She knows I will, anyway. And I don’t feel obliged to hit a home run with every gift. My wife enjoys construction paper and glitter as much as I like the Pandora box from the jewelry store.

There is comfort in our familiarity. There is an intimacy I cherish. Our bond is sealed. It gives us the freedom to fall short. Grace gives us the capacity to forgive and the commitment to try again.

We’re in a good place.

Sophia and Miles. I want the Valentines of their childhood to take on ethereal majesty. I’m not so naïve as to think a father’s kiss and a mother’s hug can fill the void when a boy or girl long for the affection of another. But, I try to create a memory of all-encompassing love for our children.

Today. Vikki and Sophia and Miles. The loves of my life. The day of love.

Also… today is February 14th. My mama died two years ago, today. Valentine’s night.

I’m torn. I’m not ready. Unprepared.

How do I reconcile mourning the loss of Margaret, a woman whose legacy has taken on near-mythical proportions, with my desire to woo my wife and show my children what genuine love looks like?

Should I cry? That would throw water on the fires of passion. Should I laugh and play? That would be disrespectful of the memory.

It’s a rare moment for me. I’m uncertain how to proceed.

I should do better than a dollar store balloon and Walmart candy.

Now, it’s a different kind of day.

I still have a few hours. I’ll think of something.