When I was thirteen years old, I had gone on group 'dates' with some of my girlfriends on a few occasions. That would be a group of girls getting together with a group of boys for a party where they would dance and nibble at some pastries; adults excluded. How these group dates were ever arranged was beyond me. I'd just get an invitation from a girlfriend who would assemble others. Presumably someone knew at least one of the boys who on his end would do the same thing and everyone would link up as a group at someone's house. Could have been birthday parties. Through the course of the evening each boy and each girl would end up a couple. And that's when I became exposed to 'necking', signalled when the lights were turned down. Kind of a desperate situation where 'everyone's doing it' and you may not like it, but you don't want to draw attention to your lack of enthusiasm. 

It was likely at one of these events where I met a boy who, as things turned out, introduced me to the boy whose presence really meant something to me. I had convinced my mother to allow me to have a party at home. For my 14th birthday. I invited my girlfriends and they invited boys they knew. The boy I knew (who actually repulsed me) and was friendly with, asked if he could bring a friend along, and I said sure. And that's when Irving walked into my life.

We quickly became inseparable. We went everywhere together. My family lived on Brunswick Avenue, his on Essex and it was a manageable walk from one to the other. We went to city parks together, on long walks together, to the area library, the occasional film at a movie theatre, spent some time with friends, and went to teen dances at the Jewish Community Centre. It was an old converted house on Spadina Avenue, the downstairs opened up to create a large dance floor, the upstairs rooms remaining intact to serve as 'club' venues.

Valentine's Day meant I would be given a large red heart-shaped box of chocolates, or a silver bracelet. Irving delivered newspapers, and he bicycled pharmacy prescriptions to customers. He also worked part-time at a chocolate factory. He told me he was 15, but I soon learned he wasn't. His birthday falls a month after mine; we were both 14. A year or two after we'd met he was persuaded by two friends willing to sponsor him, to become a member of one of the upstairs community centre clubs, so he applied. 

One of my girlfriends was dating a boy who I regarded as a bit of a lout. At that time it was rare for young boys to be driving, but her boyfriend drove an Oldsmobile. His family owned a Toronto car-parts business. And my girlfriend's brother owned a bagel baking business in Kensington Market. We once drove with my friend's boyfriend to Pontypool in the summer, never realizing we would be putting our lives in his hands. He was a show-off speed-demon and his passengers were paralyzed with fear.

He shocked me one day by telling me he'd rather be going out with me, than with my friend. His overtures chilled me since I considered him an uncultered slob, and I responded negatively. It was at a Valentine's Day dance that Irving discovered his application to join that club had been blackballed. I was convinced that it was my girlfriend's boyfriend who had torpedoed the application.

Later that day, my boyfriend sobbed his disappointment in my arms, and I seethed with anger for him. That episode sealed my disinterest in Valentine's Days, though the spirit of it remained alive and well for Irving. It also convinced me that my instincts to avoid cliques and groups of any kind that spurned 'outsiders' in favour of exclusivity had its origins in my distaste for that type of vicious pretentiousness. 

My lifelong avoidance of louts of any description remains intact. And my disinterest in contrived, commercial holiday events does as well. On the other hand, if it makes people happy, and they look forward to celebrating such events, why not? I feel the same way about other public 'holidays' meant to turn a spotlight on appreciation of the place of others in our lives. One special day where special consideration is given to others who hold a special place in our lives is meaningless, when the recognition and commensurate appreciation should be constant, dearly held, and not dependent on publicity, marketing and commercial interests to remind us so.

My friend married her boyfriend, and we kept in touch. I can't recall whether our marriage preceded hers or followed it, but by age 18 Irving and I were married and set out on our future together. Daily hugs and kisses and smiles bright enough to shame the sun are my daily Valentine's gifts.