Valentinus and the Deadbeat

A quick to stop to a local jeweler to have a watch repaired turned interesting in the form of a phone call to another patron in the store. It was his ex asking if he could send some money for the their kids.

"I can’t send no money. You know I be broke and don’t have a job! Why you always buggin’ me about this?" (Yeah, he was pretty ghetto).

This was interesting because he was dropping five hundred in cash on a gift for his current girl. Upon completing his purchase he was right back on the phone.

"Hey baby, you are not going to believe what I just got you for Valentine’s Day!"

One can’t help but notice the power of commercial holidays. Of such influence in this case it motivated an individual to want to be perceived as a better boy friend than a better father.

Granted, I blame the holiday but he would have just gone and otherwise blown the money leaving his kids for want. It seems to be the in thing these days; people making babies (eight at a time in one case) and leaving the state and taxpayers to fend to them. In this case though, it falls victim to this pseudo-holiday. A holiday conjured up by marketing, advertising schemes and commercialism in the name of a Saint we can not even accurately identify.

Surrounding this Saint are three would be contestants to be credited for the holiday (one of them is not even Valentine; it’s Valentinus). And with the Saints are three different and eloquent stories. Sadly, the most credible story is that of an imprisoned Valentine who was secretly in love with his jailors underage daughter. Before his death he wrote her a letter signed "From your Valentine".

How sweet. A would be pedophile and statutory rapist whose actions in and of themselves would be reason alone for imprisonment, is annually celebrated as a romantic holiday. Flowers, cards, dinners, movies and the night ending bow-chica-wow-wow.

This deadbeat dad reminded me why I have such a hard time with commercial holidays. They lack sincerity (and even integrity) and appease the need of the masses to follow traditions and rites of passage; regardless of its roots.

This Valentine’s Day may be a little different. More people will be staying in as the household budgets tighten. More knocking boots, less dinners and movies - and more fall babies. (That will help that household budget alright)!

Romance is a good thing, a day need not be set aside for it - especially one set aside of which the origins are as unflattering as they are unknown. Be that as it may, many look to Valentine’s Day to be pampered and shown how much they are loved by that special some one. From that perspective, the history is really of no consequence.

Yesterday I could not help but notice the crowd in Victoria’s Secret. Walking by my attention was grabbed by a young lady who really should have been much more modest than she was (or much more attractive to compensate for her lack of modesty). One lucky guy got dragged in there by his wife and got a front row see to the hideous parade of cellulite. The look on his face was classic! I sincerely hope his wife did not purchase anything because it will remind him of the wrong thing at the wrong time and could very well ruin the mood!

What was good was seeing people (even deadbeats) take time for those special and dear to them. Too often we take those best to us for granted. A special day alone hardly does a good woman justice. Good women are to be honored and cherished year round. How many times did she pick you up when you were down, believe in you more than you believed in yourself, stand by you when others would not, remind you that nothing in your life was yours to endure alone? The "just because" should be always and unrelenting because women are the balance for the sometimes disastrous work of art that is man. The keeper of the location of the favorite cuff links, lucky tie and car keys when you are running late (and of course hider of the remote on fight nights and Sundays). The song of this unsung hero needs to be played loudly and continuously, not just on a predetermined day.

Her patience applauded, her understanding recognized and her true inner beauty fully indulged; regularly, not annually.

I say women are perfect in their imperfection because we are fiercely flawed. Imperfection is the only way to provide balance for a creature designed to be imbalanced. Not everyone enjoys abstract Van Gogh like creations, but she does. Honor her for that.

Of our rib in creation, her unity makes us again whole. A concept that needs to be recognized for what it is. She is not your baby momma, she is not your booty call. She is a woman whose sole and innate design is to complete you, not to be exploited by you.

-T