When I was in second grade, I received my first ever gift from a boy. I was at a carnival and a kid from my neighborhood named Sean won me a big blue dog from a game he was playing. Being only eight, I did not think much of it. I was appreciative of the stuffed animal and I actually still have it. However, I don't think my Dad was too fond of the kind gesture. I don't think he was ready for boys to have crushes on his little girl.
My parents divorced when I was young. I vividly remember the first Valentine's Day after their split. My dad came over to pick up my younger brother and I for dinner. I was in the third grade and still getting used to split time between my parents. When my Dad came in the house, he had a big Godiva bag. He pulled out a deep red chocolate heart box with gold stitching along the sides and handed it to my mother. My brother and I ran over begging her for one of the delectable chocolates. Before I could open the box and devour my favorite piece, my dad pulled me aside.
"You're old enough now to get your own chocolate heart Olivia. Remember, no matter who comes in and out of your life, Daddy will always be your Valentine."
I just stood there staring at my father. My own? All for me? An entire box of chocolates just for me? He reached into his bag and pulled out another big red Godiva heart box. My box had a big rose in the middle of it. I hugged my Dad tight and thanked him for the incredible gift. I promised I would share.
The following year, I received another Godiva heart. This heart was pink with red lace. The next year, another heart, with little purple jewels. After that, a simple red heart with a black trim around the edges. Soon it became a tradition. Every Valentine's Day my brother and I would wait for my Godiva heart so we could go through the list of chocolates and eat them until our stomachs hurt. My father loved seeing how happy the chocolate hearts made me and he wanted me to know how special I was. Year after year, he would hand me the box and say the same words to me as he did the year before; "Remember, no matter who comes in and out of your life, Daddy will always be your Valentine."
My Dad is a lot more than just a valentine. He is my biggest fan. He was my cheerleader at every single game, match and meet. When I decided to be a swimmer, he was at every race. Even the ones that would take a two hour train ride from the city. He drove me to every soccer tournament and never missed a single game, even if that meant leaving work early.
My Dad made dreaded Sundays the best part of the week. Breakfast at Matthew's or The Daily Treat was a ritual that I truly miss when I'm away at school. Together, we explored Manhattan where he grew up. He showed me the best pizza slice is at Joe's in the west village, the best bagels are H&H and Magnolia's bakery is a tourist trap. We tried all of the greatest restaurants and rocked the Rangers hockey jersey better than anyone I know.
When I did something wrong, he never got mad. He would just be disappointed, which is far worse than anger. But he was the first one I turned to when I screwed up. If I needed him, he would be there no matter the day, time or place.
Although my parents were divorced, we always spent the holidays together. Every Christmas morning, Mom and Dad would be there watching my brother and I open presents. New Years Eve, which is also my birthday would be a shared celebration with a mixture of my friends, and both sides of the family and, of course, Valentine's Day. Every year without fail, another Godiva heart.
As I got older, the beautiful chocolates in those heart shaped boxes would take a lot longer to eat. I was not the little kid shoving my face with candy anymore. By the end of high school, I was in my first relationship. I was busy with friends, going out on the weekends and applying to schools. When I went to college, I was not even home for Valentine's Day anymore.
A couple of years ago, I told my Dad to stop buying me Godiva hearts. I said to him it was a waste of his money and I knew how much he loved me. He told me that he still needed to get me something for Valentine's Day. I told him he really did not have to get anything but he insisted. I told him he can just give me money instead of spending money on the chocolate hearts. I told him I would get more use out of some extra cash over chocolates I would have to throw out by Easter.
When I came home for a long weekend at the end of February my freshman year of college, there was a card with my name on it with money inside. My Dad came home later that night. He told me he got me something else. I was confused the money and card were generous enough. He reached in his bag and pulled out a red Godiva heart. He told me he couldn't break tradition. That night we devoured through half the box.
Now, I am 22 years old. My Dad has seen me at my highs and lows. He's witnessed people come in and out of my life. He's seen me in love and he has seen me broken. He has given me the confidence I've needed to accomplish major milestones in my life. Getting into college, working various internships and soon, he will be the voice of reason when I am having a post-graduation meltdown.
To this day, I have saved every single chocolate heart my Dad has ever given me. The chocolate hearts themselves are not important. What they represent is. They reminded me of my Dad, the greatest valentine a girl could ask for. A valentine should not just spoil you once a year on a commercialized holiday. Your valentine should be someone who knows how to treat you right everyday. They should be someone you can count on 24/7. Someone who has seen you at your best and has helped you when you're at an all time low. Someone who is your biggest fan, but at the same time can be your hero. That is a real valentine. Thanks for being mine, Dad. I love you.
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