My grandparents used to read each other the messages on those little candy hearts every Valentine’s Day. They would giggle and smile coyly like two teenagers before dropping the tiny confection into the other’s mouth. I was only 10 years old when I saw this and realized that I wanted “grandparent love” someday. “Grandparent love” is that unconditional, hold-hands, drink coffee together in the morning and tea at night, in-it-for-the-long-haul type of love. This love has the comfort of homemade bread and the warmth of a wood-burning stove.
But as I’ve gotten older I’ve realized how difficult “grandparent love” is to find. And as each lonely Valentine’s Day passes, I quit reading the messages on those tiny hearts and just devour the entire bag in protest. It seems that “grandparent love” is becoming obsolete. Why? Because making homemade bread takes too long and wood-burning stoves are considered dangerous.
“The good ones are already taken.” What a discouraging phrase for the single, twenty-something in Kalamazoo. As I was driving to work last week I was distracted by all the young, ambitious men downtown wearing suits and walking with purpose. Where were they going? I’m convinced that there is a secret destination in this town for men who dream as big as I do. And I’m determined to find them without having to ride a bull, embarrass myself in a karaoke contest or give my credit card number on-line.
As part of the post-college, young-professional crowd, I know many of my peers will agree when I say this town needs a place of refuge for our growing demographic. Until a venue exists that reflects our budding sophistication and creativity, I’m forced to spend another night at home hoping for “grandparent love” while polishing off the final piece of candy from a big, red, heart-shaped box of chocolates that I bought for myself.
My latest heartbreak may be categorized as one of my greater disappointments. It revealed to me even higher standards for “grandparent love” that could be challenging to find again. But I’m going to press on and believe there is hope in this town for those who believe in life-long love and passion and who won’t settle for less. I think I’ll pass up the pity party this Valentine’s Day in hopes that I’m one heartache closer to never being heartbroken again.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
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