THE FEBRUARY TRIFECTAHONEST ABE, MOM, & ST. VALENTINE
by Wendel Potter
February 13, 2005
Back in the late 1950's/early 1960's, my tiny child's fingers got quite a workout each February as they maneuvered those metal school scissors through navy blue construction paper that was thicker than the bark from a sequoia tree. Twisting and turning along finely traced pencil lines, we cut out silhouettes of Abe Lincoln and displayed them on the windows of our classroom to honor the great man's birthday.
They should have all looked pretty much the same, but they didn't. Some classmates, usually the girls, were better with scissors than others. I was one of those unfortunate students lacking in artistic talent. Quite by accident, my Lincoln silhouette was the only one with a bullet hole.
What did I get in return for all this scissoring? Early onset of adult arthritis in my fingers! When the weather gets cold and damp, my scissor hand loses its grip and my fingers are more crooked than Ken Lay.
All because year after year we had to replicate Abe Lincoln's profile with construction paper. Personally, I would have preferred just to carry around a government printed picture of our 16th president in my wallet.
Of course, Valentine's Day followed on the heels of Lincoln's birthday. That always called for an afternoon party in our classroom. In order to have a tasty gala, the nuns would purchase pink-frosted heart-shaped Valentine cookies from a local bakery.
To defray the cost of the treats, our parents were to send to school with their children a quarter--a veritable fortune in those times. I once heard that the bakery actually donated the cookies and that the nuns at our school used the quarters to put in the poor box in the back of the parish church. They should have just bought a padlock because the poor box was always being robbed.
But the grand event was the Valentine exchange. Every student was to bring a decorative, enclosed container with a slot cut in the lid to serve as a personal mail box so each of us could drop a Valentine inside for each classmate.
Most of us brought shoe boxes that had been neatly covered with tissue paper by our industrious mothers. My mother did a fine job making my Valentine's box, but she had a tough time because she had arthritis in her fingers from using a metal school scissors in her youth.
We were under strict orders from the nuns to give every classmate a signed Valentine. There would be no playing favorites.
Sister did not want anyone's feelings being hurt. She insisted that there be good will among all of us. Otherwise, she would crack our heads with a ruler. And her ruler was thicker than the bark from a sequoia tree.
My mother's birthday fell on February 13th--sandwiched neatly between Abe and Valentine. That meant more arts and crafts.
Since I didn't have a picture of Lincoln in my wallet, I would opt to make a gift for Mom. This venture, of course, would involve using scissors and construction paper. It was all I knew. Dad had forbidden me to use his power tools until I was ten and I wasn't yet into popsicle sticks, tiles, and glue.
February offered a menu of celebrations. There was Washington's Birthday (this was before the federal government combined George's and Abe's birthdays to make President's Day) and, of course Groundhog's Day and usually Ash Wednesday. Fortunately, the latter two didn't involve metal scissors and construction paper.
May has been set aside as National Arthritis Month. Somehow I think February would be more fitting.
Copyright 2005 Wendel Potter
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