May No Child’s Valentine’s Day Box Ever Be Empty

Dennis E. I haven’t thought about him since I was 10 years old.

Tonight, as my child was getting a jump on making Valentine’s cards for her friends, I remembered him.

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He was “that” kid, and not in a good way. He was nearly always in trouble. He didn’t appear to be particularly smart, didn’t get along well with others, wasn’t in the least bit athletic, and was “too big for his age,” as many said about him.

To be fair, I wasn’t popular or athletic, either, but at that age, it was arguably better to be invisible than to be openly disliked.

I confess that 10-year-old me went out of my way to choose the *worst* Valentine’s card in the box for Dennis when I was selecting which one I’d give to each classmate. I didn’t like him any more than anyone else did. I didn’t include any hand-written hearts on his like I did for many of the other kids in class. I remember signing my name in an intentionally messy way because I didn’t want him to think I liked him. (Adult me does not feel great about any of this.)

When it came time to exchange Valentine’s cards at school, I distributed mine with enthusiasm, just like the rest of the kids did. Until I got to Dennis’ box…and looked inside. It was completely empty. That kind of zapped my enthusiasm. 

Not knowing what else to do with my crummy card for him, I dropped it in and moved on back to math class. (I remember it was math because we were learning something about fractions that day, and I liked fractions about as much as I liked Dennis.)

Now, from a 10-year-old’s perspective, about the worst thing that could’ve happened next, happened. Dennis started liking and pursuing me with the persistence and clumsiness that comes with the territory at that age. 

I was mortified, of course. The year went on, though, and eventually came summer break and the following year, and somehow, sometime — I don’t know when — Dennis’ family moved away. I can’t say I noticed. (Again, adult me isn’t proud of this.)

With adult eyes, I can look at awkward Dennis and mostly-invisible 10-year-old me and every other child out there and say, “You all deserved to be seen. You all deserved love. You all deserved the very, VERY best Valentine’s cards. Every single one of you–especially those of you who felt loved the least. You shouldn’t have had to chase love — you should’ve been able to rest in it.”

If I had it to do over again, I’m not sure my 10-year-old self would’ve had the wisdom or wherewithal to give him a “good” card or even a decent signature in the pretty cursive writing I’d just learned how to do. 

Wherever he is now, though, I hope he is deeply loved. I hope he knows his value. I hope someone, somewhere showed up for him in all the ways. I hope that if he has children, he doesn’t care if they’re too big for their age, or always in trouble, or not very smart or athletic. I hope he realizes they have exactly one shot at a happy childhood, and that through his love for them, he realizes that he was also, always, enough. 

All of our kids know at least one child like Dennis. I wonder if there’s something all of us could do for this child just to let him know we see and value his humanity. He needs us. How can we show up? 

May no child’s box ever be empty.

With love,
Sarah, author of “Peaceful Discipline” ❤️