{My First Valentine}

Yesterday, Morgan and I were thumbing through Valentine mementos down the greeting card isle at the dollar store, when I overheard the sweetest conversation.

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The American Greetings gal was restocking sections of pink and red glittered cards and casually made a comment to an older gentlemen who was also thumbing through them, just like us.

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The lady commented how big of a job it is, trying to pick out the perfect Valentine's gift.

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He quietly nodded, smiled, then proceeded to tell her that he had three daughters and his wife.

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She expressed slight amusement, then continued replenishing envelopes. Still browsing through cards, he thought for a moment, then continued to say, "Yes, and they are so worth it."

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Is it silly of me to say that I thought about that all day yesterday, and each time I did, a few tears surfaced?

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It was so heartfelt, and the man reminded me of my own father.

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In our home, Valentine's was never a grand production. I think that may be why I continue to love it so.

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Growing up, it always stood for simplicity. Thoughtfulness. Sincerity. And those qualities manifested themselves year after year, through the gesture of giving a simple flower to each lady in our home, a sweet card for my mom that she would display on the kitchen counter all through February, and then, of course, something less feminine for my brother.

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And as I grew, those qualities became what I saw in my father -- and eventually what my heart sought for in a darling of my own.

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Lucky for me, I found such the one.

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And lucky for me, the original one is still mine, too.

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My first sweetheart, my first Valentine.

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My Dad.