Valentine's Day: love it or hate it, the diapered love God cometh --and you can't stop him. I have witnessed enthusiasm and hostility for this particular heart shaped holiday for 17 years now, living vicariously through my offspring. I have smirked at the contrary elementary school romances, the deliciously gooey lovey dovey cards and guffawed at letters and lollipops. I have raised my fist in the air, scorning celebrators of the holiday when my daughter was lacking an object of affection. And I have eaten chocolate with both of my teens on more than one romantic sunset --a lot of chocolate. And while my two eldest sprogs still have much to figure out when it comes to the relationship bit, I had it all figured out in the second grade. (I was an ultra-fast learner.)
His name Kenny. He was a cute, awkward little blonde boy with a zillion and one freckles. Since I was smart, he would always come to me for help with his schoolwork. I was his first crush and he was mine.
Feel free to swoon.
Every day Kenny would prance over to my desk, serenading me with each step. He was quite the crooner. His favorite tune was "Travelin' Man" -he was kind of Ricky Nelson buff.
Even back then, I was an eye-rolling aficionado. I remember rolling my eyes every time he would travel over to my desk, and then again, with each reason he found reasons to stay. However, I secretly loved every minute of it. I caught myself humming "Traveling Man" every day on the way home from school that year.
That Valentine's Day, 25-years ago, I received a not-so-anonymous love letter in my Valentine's Day box. It wasn't signed, but it was written in Kenny's unmistakable God-awful, chicken-scratch.
Feel free to swoon again.
Of course, I pretended I had no idea who sent it, and he pretended to buy my pretending. Nevertheless, our unspoken love didn't stop him from his travels to and from my desk each day, several times a day. Even the teacher caught on. He was horribly obvious, and I loved him for it.
Nevertheless, every compelling love story has to end. It wasn't long after that, that my traveling man traveled away, for good. In third grade, his family moved to Virginia. And as kids in third grade often do, we lost touch. We didn't have Facebook back then. The dinosaurs hated it.
Speaking of Facebook. About two weeks ago, the twins were doing some ghosts of boyfriends past reconnaissance using this handy tool. Meghan asked me about my elementary school crushes; she wanted to do some Magnum P.I. sleuthing, to make sure I actually had taste, once upon a time.
I felt my eyes instinctively roll at the proposition. Then, a smile washed over my face. I gave her Kenny's name. She typed and I unconsciously started humming "our song."
We tried, but never did find him -yes, we even looked on Twitter. I guess he hasn't traveled over to social networking just yet. However, I'll be sure to know when he does. I hear that traveling men make a lot of stops. I'm sure he's just held up in traffic.
I want to know: Who was your first "Traveling Man"?
Shauna Zamarripa is a Shine Parenting Guru, money expert and self-professed maven of mayhem. She may not travel much, but she can talk to you about the mundane and saving money on her Miss Adventures and Penny Pinchers blogs. If that wasn't enough ways to connect, follow her on Twitter or check out her random (and occasionally hilarious) musings on Facebook.
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