Once February arrives, I study the Valentines cards, reading the sentiments carefully, trying to find one that adequately expresses my feelings.
I grew up with the Disney version of true love. If I was sweet and true, I would meet and marry my prince. I believed it was my destiny. I had those long-play Disney records and listened to Snow White’s lines “Someday my prince will come…” over and over. This innocence was reinforced by what I knew of my parents’ first meeting, marriage, and establishment of our home. I thought my dad was the most handsome man in the world, and my mother was sweet and beautiful. I imagined the Disney castle was my peaceful house. It was mostly conflict-free and a version of “true love” I could aspire to.
In elementary school, our classmate Jimmy declared his eternal love for me in second grade. Jimmy was a James Dean type eight-year-old. He had a thick head of blond hair, with long bangs he would flip back with a shake of his head. He was by far the fastest boy on the playground, and to add to his overall appeal, he had a pet raccoon and crow. He sent notes, gave me jewelry (which my mother made me return), and gifted me beautiful Valentines. He was so very sweet to me, and I was so very not interested in his affections.
I was raised to never hurt anyone’s feelings, which made it difficult to reply honestly to his passionate notes. I would just pencil “I like you as a friend” to his missives and send them secretly back across our classroom. I don’t remember any of my elementary girlfriends having crushes, we just played together at recess and most of the day operated in two separate worlds: the boys’ side and the girls’ side.
In middle school, boys started to get more interesting. My friends and I attended Friday night dances, and our conversations often revolved around what we should wear and whether unsuspecting thirteen-year-old boys liked us.
As a freshman in high school, besides being terribly intimidated by the seniors, I was intrigued by the couples who roamed the school. Matching knitted hats, flannel shirts, even shoes seemed to define “true love” in the 1970s. I dreamed that someday I would take a trip to the mall with my future boyfriend, where we would pick out coordinating apparel. We would wear our outfits, meeting often throughout the school day to walk hand-in-hand down the hallways. True love.
Well, forty-five years later, my understanding of true love has been tested and adjusted. True love looks like working side-by-side, sharing opinions and ideas, and delivering an unexpected smile.
We are not interested in matching clothing, although we do sport Michigan State University sweatshirts, Detroit Tigers T-shirts, and Detroit Lions gear.
I now realize that “happily ever after” means learning to work it out, forgiving, and always caring for another person, even when it’s difficult. It means being there during hard times and always on the “same team” during crises.
True love is complicated and challenging and ever changing.
And while it’s not the Disney version,
It’s a Fine Life.
