By Carl Sampson
In general, I resist those “Hallmark” holidays. They’re the holidays that didn’t even exist until card companies and retailers figured out they could guilt us into buying a card for one thing or another.
There’s Secretaries’ Day – now it’s called Administrative Professionals’ Day. And there’s Grandparents’ Day – I suppose I’ll feel differently if I ever become one, but really, isn’t being a grandparent already cool enough?
But the mother of all of these holidays is Valentine’s Day. It was a pretty big deal in, oh, about second grade, when we were obligated to buy everyone in the class a card. But I’ll tell you for certain: That cute little girl in the front row couldn’t have cared less about me, even if I gave her a hundred cards.
As I get older, though, my thoughts on Valentine’s Day have mellowed. It’s a time for me to consider how one person has changed my life and to be thankful.
I should explain.
For years I was the ultimate workaholic. Long days, weekends and evenings blurred into one another as I tried to figure out how to do this journalism thing. What I lacked in ability or talent, I made up for in pure dogged determination. I’d go in 6 a.m. to 9 p.m. most days, then put in a good 8 hours each on Saturdays and Sundays.
I did that for more than a decade.
Then something happened.
I’ll give you a hint: It involved the police. And a bunch of state troopers. I helped start one of those Crimestoppers programs in Juneau, Alaska, where I lived. As a result, I was invited to the annual Alaska Peace Officers Association banquet to receive a plaque on behalf of the program.
I tried as hard as I could to dodge the banquet. I tried to find someone else to go; I tried to find something at work to do, but on this particular night there just wasn’t any excuse I could give not to attend.
So I went.
I knew several police officers and state troopers. A guy can’t work at a newspaper and not deal with the police regularly. One of them invited me to sit with him and his wife. As I pulled up a chair, he introduced me to his sister-in-law, Patti, who was visiting from out-of-town.
The second he said her name, that was it. There weren’t fireworks, or doves flying around the room, but we hit it off. We talked all evening and danced all night. By the time the band played the last song, I was totally twitterpated.
As I walked her to her brother-in-law’s car in the pre-dawn light, I knew in my heart that I had met The One.
We later joked that we should have eloped that day. It took a bit longer than that, but, I’m thrilled to say, being married to Patti has been far better than I could have ever imagined.
With her, every day is Valentine’s Day.
