Marshall McClung
One February many years ago found a small boy in a dilemma over Valentine’s Day, which was swiftly approaching.
It seems that he had become smitten with a severe case of “puppy love,” over a beautiful little girl that lived in his neighborhood. He wanted to get her a really nice card for Valentine’s Day that would say what he didn’t have the nerve to tell her.
The problem facing him was the fact that his cash flow had all swam downstream after Christmas. Times were hard and he knew not to ask his parents for money, as they were likely as broke as he was.
In the fall, he had made a little money splitting firewood for folks but this deep into winter, everyone already had their winter supply. In winter’s past, he had made some money shoveling snow from driveways and steps for people.
If only it would snow.
The next morning – as if an answer to prayer – there were several inches of snow on the ground. He quickly got to work and after several jobs of snow removal, he thought he had enough to get that special big card for that special girl. To his disappointment, he didn’t have enough to pay for the card and the store owner wouldn’t cut the price any.
As he was walking home – fighting back tears, knowing that Valentine’s Day was the next day and he had nothing to give her – an idea came to him. Back to the store he went and spent his money on a large supply of red dye.
When he reached the yard of the girl’s home, it was beginning to get dark. He quickly tramped out a large Valentine heart with the words “Be My Valentine” underneath it. Then he applied every bit of the red dye on the heart. Pleased with his handiwork, he went home.
On Valentine’s Day, the girl awoke and saw the large red heart as soon as she looked out the window. Out she went to examine it more closely. Then, she noticed a set of footprints leading to a certain house. She knocked on the door and when he opened it, she planted a kiss on his cheek – which then turned as red as the big heart in the snow.
In case you are wondering, the boy in the story is not me. It was sent to me and was passed down by word of mouth.
Marshall McClung writes a bi-weekly column for The Graham Star. He can be reached via email, mcclungs@email.com.