When I think of Valentine’s Day’s of my youth nothing substantial comes to mind except for a Valentine’s Day when I was in the second grade. We were each to bring a homemade valentines box to class and enough valentines for everyone. My Mom made my box for me. It was covered in shiny tin foil and had some colorful trimmings. I thought it was beautiful. In class there was a vote for the best valentine’s box. The teacher stood by the boxes and called out the name of the box’s owner. Mine was one of the first. Very few voted for it. This hurt my feelings so much I decided not to vote for anyone else’s box. I showed them. That’s one of my few memories of second grade. Consequently I don’t remember second grade fondly. Thanks a lot Valentine’s Day.

Valentine’s Day was on a Saturday this year. On the Friday morning run I noticed many of my elementary kids getting on the bus with colorful valentine’s boxes. There were pink boxes with hearts; red boxes with “Love” printed on the outside; and this being a rural town there was even a hunter’s camouflage valentine box. The boy who sits in the front had a Minecraft themed box. Many of the students had bags of valentines they would be handing out. I could feel a warm excitement among the kids that took me back. I must have had better Valentine’s Days after second grade because the feeling of excitement I felt brought on Déjà vu. I can’t remember details, but the happy anticipation I felt on the bus was a feeling I knew well. It came from the hope of getting a special valentine from some cute little girl I liked or perhaps it was from the anxiety of giving a special valentine to someone I secretly admired. I reveled in the feeling. The morning felt light and happy.

“Are your kids getting on the bus with pretty valentine’s boxes, too?” I radioed one of the other bus drivers who I knew had a load of elementary kids.

“Yes, yes they are,” she responded. She didn’t sound as delighted as I felt. I put this down to her familiarity with the day. She had been driving for over twenty years and had seen as many Valentine’s Days come and go.

That afternoon the kids came running from the school and filed onto the bus. I still felt an excitement among them, but it wasn’t as charming as it was that morning. Most didn’t have their boxes with them now. I suspected they had thrown them away. What they did have with them was a backpack full of valentine candy. The valentines candy I remember from my elementary days included a few heart shaped suckers, maybe a piece of chocolate, and lots of little hearts with “Be Mine” and “True Love” written on them. Times have changed. The kids were eating cupcakes, candy bars, sugar cookies and every other incarnation of sugar you can think of. I commented to another bus driver over the radio, “It’s like Halloween, but pink.”

The kids bounced around the bus like Mexican jumping beans high from the sugar and the excitement. After I parked the blessedly silent bus in the compound I unhooked my seat-belt and turned around to walk my bus. I stopped in astonishment—it was like Valentine’s Day had exploded all over my bus. Candy wrappers were still falling to the floor like colorful snow. Now I knew why the other bus driver was a little reserved about this special day of love.

I grabbed my broom and began the chore of sweeping between and under each seat. I swept all the trash into the middle aisle before making a pass down the aisle toward the front herding the ever growing pile with me. On this day as I looked at the bank of trash down the aisle I thought I might need to get a snow shovel to finish the job. I eventually got the residue of Valentine’s Day out of my bus. It was a lot of work, and I was annoyed that the kids would throw their wrappers on the floor without a second thought. But when I remember the looks on the faces of the kids and remembered the feelings I’ve felt on Valentine’s Day in the past, I find that I’m still looking forward to seeing the colorful boxes next year. I suppose I’m just sentimental.