Father's love wrapped in little pink boxes

Well, by the time you read this, another Valentine’s Day will have come and gone.

To tell you the truth, I’ll probably be glad.

Some years I can jump right into the romance of it, indulge in the sweetness of the Hallmark moments that Feb. 14 invokes.

I know I’m lucky to be married to the greatest cowboy in the world. And it’s nice to have a holiday that really encourages you to show it.

But this year I don’t feel like a red hot. In fact, I feel blue. I’m missing my little pink box of candy.

You see, when I think of my memories of Valentine’s Day, sometimes I picture the ones I spent as a little girl.

Every Valentine’s Day my mom and I were the object of my Daddy’s affection. She’d get a big red heart-shaped box, full to the brim of the prettiest chocolate candies you’ve ever seen.

And Daddy didn’t forget his other valentine. There was always a smaller box – a pink one – just for me.

Just picturing us lifting the lids to our boxes still invokes the faintest trace of the scent to my nostrils. The white paper pushed aside, we’d gaze at the morsels contained within.

I’ll have to admit this here. I come from a family of pinchers.

Maybe that’s why the first gaping look into the box was so memorable. Maybe I knew it wouldn’t be long before the thin plastic cubbyholes would be empty, their sweet indulgences sweetly indulged upon.

And, left in their wake, would remain the pinched-up smooshies. These were the least favorable of the lot. In my own case, those would be the orange-filled variety.

Yuck.

Just picturing the bright orange center cocooned inside the deep brown chocolate sends me cringing. Much less the taste of it.

So pinching became a part of the ritual. And I’m afraid this habit was inherited from my mom, no slouchy pincher in her own right. We’d pinch and poke and peek at the confectionary innards.

Then, upon confirmation that the center of the candy in question was not offensive, we’d dine in style.

Mmmmmm.

But those days passed on when Daddy did.

I don’t know if everyone who’s lost a loved one remembers the little things more around holiday time. As much as I still miss him in my day-to-day life, it’s usually ten-fold when there’s something to celebrate.

For 17 years, Daddy brought me little pink boxes. And the memory is as sweet as the treasure those boxes contained.

I know I can never go back and relive my childhood. But sometimes I wish I could.

My Daddy wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve. He was more the strong, silent type, always on the ready, protective to the core. He didn’t gush or put his feelings into words very often.

But you always knew he was there.

And now he’s not.

I know there’s so much to celebrate on Valentine’s Day. There’s so much fun in exchanging cards and gifts and being allowed – even encouraged – to show your feelings to the world.

I know, Lord willing, Arnie will have gotten me a valentine. He’ll have hugged and kissed me and told me how much he loves me. He might even bring me home some candy in a big red heart-shaped box.

We’ll laugh and inhale and let the pinching begin.

But, oh, how I miss those little pink boxes.


* Originally published 2-16-00