By John Christmann www.dadinthebox.com
“What I wonder,” I say watching my kids make Valentines cards on the kitchen table, “is what kind of genius schedules a celebration of love in the dead of winter?”
“That genius was a priest, Dad!” my older son informs me as he opens a bag of Sweethearts—those little heart-shaped candy precursors to text messaging stamped with suggestive phrases like UR HOT, B MINE, and LETS DO LUNCH. “Saint Valentine died on February 14th.”
Then, after a reflective pause, he reaches for a glue stick and asks, “Dad, did you ever give someone a Valentines card when you were my age?”
He is in middle school and I am not prepared for his question. “Of course not,” I shoot back without thinking, “when I was your age girls had cooties.”
My daughter looks up, startled. “I have cooties?” she stammers.
“No sweetie,” I reassure her. “When a boy likes a girl he says she has cooties so that he can pretend he really doesn’t like her. Then he gets a cootie shot so he can catch the cooties he says he doesn’t want.”
“But Daddy, that’s silly. Why would boys do that?”
“Because boys really do have cooties.” I explain. “They burrow into our heads and short circuit our brains and make us act all goofy. Then we spend the rest of our lives trying to find a girl who doesn’t mind the fact that we have cooties and act really goofy.”
My older son scoffs: “Dad, that is the dumbest thing I have ever heard.”
I am too late. Cooties are busy rewiring his brain and he understands that Valentines Day has more to do with birds and bees than it does with martyred saints. “Nice card,” I say, straining to see what he has written. “Who is it for?”
He looks surprised, like I am the kind of genius who wonders why romance is celebrated in the middle of February. “It’s for Mom.” he says. “Who do you think it’s for?”
I smile and flip a candy heart in my mouth. B TRUE it says. We still have some time before the Love Birds sing.
