January 31, 2018
Just Saying…
By Q.C. Jones
My dad was a Hopeless Romantic
My dad was a hopeless romantic, and my mother was the focus of his attention. Valentine’s Day holds a special place in my life. Let me elaborate. Their courtship ended in a midweek Valentine’s Day wedding on a snowy day back in 1951. In spite of the snow and 1950’s driving conditions, these newlyweds launched off for the romantic honeymoon destination of French Lick, Indiana. As they left town in a car borrowed from my dad’s uncle, the conditions got so bad, my dad drove railroad engineer-style with his head out the window peering ahead in the snow. After driving less than 30 miles, they changed their plans and made Decatur, Illinois their honeymoon stop. Over the course of his life, my dad must have retold the story thousands of times. Each time he told the tale, his special twinkle illuminated the room.
It would be an understatement to say my mom didn’t enjoy hearing the story. She never told the tale, but she loved hearing of it. Even though my dad told the story to many
people, I think my mother loved hearing it told as much as my dad loved telling it.
The spirit of Saint Valentine hovered over our whole family. My youngest siblings, a set of twins, were born to commemorate my parent’s anniversary on, you guessed it, February 14th. Because of this dual set of important dates, our family celebrated Saint Valentine in a big way. Actually, one might say it was a month long celebration of candies, cakes, cookies and for my mom flowers. Looking back, I suspect the festive nature lingers on throughout my family. Well, maybe.
If you asked my lovely bride, she might tell you the romantic gene in the QC Jones family skipped a generation; or at least with old QC. Sadly, I agree with her. It’s not that I lack love in my heart, or caring in my soul, it’s just the whole Valentine romantic thing was about my mom, dad and sisters. True confessions here: After nearly four decades of marriage, I have to tie a string around my fingers and toes to remember any important date. Year after year, the best of romantic intentions are lost until mid-morning on that fateful date. I get busy with work, I get wrapped up other stuff and wham, I’m writing a check and enter in the date to realize, “Holy Moly it’s February 14th.” Thankfully, I work well under pressure. But the Valentine’s Day massacre isn’t a new thing.
Thinking back to second grade, the class had prepared for the big day by creating special construction paper mailboxes for each member of the class. These were painstakingly
decorated with red hearts, bits of ribbon and an occasional cupid. The plan was to hold a major-league celebration on the big day equipped with cupcakes, cookies and Kool-Aid of the red variety, One can only wonder what they were thinking loading us up with mass quantities of sugar and red food dye.
I was the only kid who didn’t bring a special card for all of my classmates. It wasn’t that I didn’t like them or didn’t hold a couple of those cute pony-tailed little girls in special regard. The action might very well have been a seven year old’s stubborn refusal to fall prey to the greeting card industry. Focusing back, it seems more like I just wasn’t into it. Very few people noticed my lack of effort, but my kindly teacher noticed and took me aside. Asking if Valentine’s cards were against my religion (they certainly were not), she encouraged me to rethink my thoughts on the whole deal. Fortunately, the conversation covered social obligations through Junior High.
One final story of my lack of romanticism. Early in our courtship, I decided to turn over a new leaf. My future bride and I were getting serious. I lived in the QCA and she resided in Ames. The plan was I would travel over and spend the weekend with her and her sister. February 14th fell on Wednesday, and since I wasn’t due over until the 16th, I procrastinated. When I arrived in Ames she was still on a business trip, so I was headed out to buy a “belated” Valentines something or other. Her sister wanted to tag along. We headed to the local Target store.
I had no idea as to what to buy, but immediately upon entering the big double doors saw a giant display of Valentine’s candy on deep discount. Being terminally frugal,
I was attracted. I bought her a massive heart shaped box of candies. I mean this thing was huge with a capital H. When she arrived, she was blown away by the gesture; or at least until her sister gave away my shopping secret. Somehow this time the thought didn’t count.
The moral of the story? I am not sure. But I will leave you with a thought. My dad’s tombstone is the shape of a heart. I want a 50 foot granite obelisk… Just saying.
