King of Hearts

I pulled this blog from my archives. You may have read it. I often think about how my dad would feel about this pandemic. Being a member of "The Greatest Generation," he would have accepted the inconveniences and disappointments and his big heart would have reached out to help those who are negatively affected financially by the pandemic.  I know he would. I try to emulate my dad, but to be honest, he's a tough act to follow. I think this blog is fitting to post again for Valentine's Day...it says a lot and maybe it will warm your heart....again.

I often write stories about my dad. Once I start writing, his strong Brooklyn accent fills my ears and warm memories flood my heart. There are so many good stories, but there are a few favorites. Here’s one of them….

Growing up, Valentine’s Day was much more than a Hallmark Day at our house. My dad had a huge heart and sometimes I think this day was meant just for him. On this day, he paid special attention to my mom, the love of his life, and also his mother, mother-in-law, sister and four daughters.  On Valentine’s night, my dad would come home from work a little later than usual because he would stop at the fancy neighborhood confectionary shop and literally buy out the place, purchasing each of us a heart filled with chocolates. Doesn’t sound too original, does it? Well, it was, because of how it was done.

He would purchase each heart in direct proportion to our family rank. What? No, he wasn’t an army man. 

Just a guy (ironically, his name was Guy) who wanted to make all of us feel special and unique. Believe me, being raised in my time did not make me feel like I was the center of the universe. But there were times, Valentine’s Day being one of them, where I did feel like the center of my dad’s world, and I certainly didn’t mind sharing that space with my three sisters.

The side door would open with a shout, "I’m home" and Dad would come down the stairs to our finished basement where we did everything. His arms would be filled with boxes of the chocolate goodies. I should mention that before coming home, he would make a stop to deliver a large pink heart to his mom and chocolate cherry cordials (her favorite) to his sister. Being the good son and brother that he was, this was just another reason why this was his day. Then it was our turn.

If anyone one of us were doing homework, we were fast to abandon the books and position ourselves on the receiving line. My mom would get the biggest heart that they sold at the store. You know, the one in the window display. It was always a rich red velvet heart adorned with satin roses and a wide shiny ribbon on top. She would always lament, “Guy, I don’t need all this chocolate!”  We knew she loved that my dad got her the best they had, and we knew she loved my dad with a heart one hundred times larger than the one she received. My mother’s mom, Noni lived with us and my dad would bring her the same pink heart that he gave to his mom. I remember how her eyes would twinkle and in her Italian accent she would say how she loved a little piece of “choco-lato” with her coffee. My older sisters are twins, so my dad followed the psychology of the time, giving them identical looking hearts of a pretty good size, in my estimation.  Then came mine. I would get one a bit smaller than the twins or if it was the same size, it would be a different color, suitable for the attention seeking needs of this middle child. The youngest sister would get the smallest heart adorned with a popular cartoon character.

Looking back, I realize that my dad’s chocolate gift selections were chosen to recognize and honor our place in the family, teaching us to do the same. Because of him, no one counted the number of chocolates; we counted our blessings.

When the ceremony ended, my sisters and I would retreat to our bedrooms on a sugar high, getting back to homework, licking our fingers of the last remnants of a chocolate dipped caramel.  As for Mom’s gigantic candy-filled heart, it was enough to satisfy the entire family’s sweet tooth for the remaining winter months, with the last pieces just about finished in time for my dad to bring home the chocolate Easter bunnies.