by Eve Stenson

Happy Sweetest Day!

Technically, I should add a "belated," since Sweetest Day was on Saturday . . . but it’s not like you knew that. In fact, unless you’re from the Midwest, you probably haven’t even heard of it before.

It’s been rumored this is because the holiday was invented by American Greetings, whose world headquarters is in Cleveland. But a similar allegation is also leveled against greeting card manufacturers regarding Valentines Day. And while I’m sure the latter wouldn’t be the same without message-bearing candy hearts (Does anyone else find it amusing that the folks who brought us "URA QT" and "EZ 2 LOVE" decided to add "PEN PAL" to promote a "literacy" theme this year?), the date did have some meaning before their introduction.

This isn’t to say that inventing holidays is a bad thing. Pi Day (March 14) is one of my personal favorites. January 27 was Chocolate Cake Day, and I bet you didn’t hear anyone complaining March 1 about Peanut Butter Lover’s Day (inaudible mumbling, perhaps, but not complaining). And just last month (September 19) was everyone’s favorite scurvy-licious observance: Talk Like a Pirate Day.

As it turns out, Sweetest Day was, in fact, invented in Cleveland – not by American Greetings, though. It was started more than 60 years ago when a man by the name of Herbert Birch Kingston got his friends and neighbors together to distribute small gifts to the city’s orphans and shut-ins. Celebrated on the third Saturday in October, it evolved from a day to cheer up the misfortunate into a simple remembrance of the people you care about. At least, that’s the idea.

Unfortunately, however, it’s often interpreted as a wanna-be Valentines Day – another occasion for the unattached to bemoan being excluded from the festivities, yet hang out together in merry camaraderie, while the couples wander off in pairs. Which, when you think about it, isn’t that different from any other day of the year.

Recently, I was part of a discussion about classmates’ relative likelihood to become scarce after graduation. It was very accurately pointed out that such behavior generally coincided with the establishment of a boyfriend/girlfriend.

Sure, "Bros before hos" might seem like a sound philosophy, but just one "significant other" comes along and the whole thing goes out the window. Upon the recent acquisition of a girlfriend after a 22-year dry spell (which had, or so I hear, even prompted wagers as whether such an event would ever happen), one friend of ours was persuaded to swear to us a solemn oath: not to become lame.

He seemed sincere enough, but it’s hard to tell what to believe, with the strange changes that come over people. This one guy I knew started dating a vegetarian, and suddenly he was eating soy bacon. Another felt the need to get a tattoo of two hearts . . . boasting a pair of angelic wings, no less (and he wasn’t dating another guy, either).

But as humorous as such tales are, they mask serious matters. Changing oneself for another person, in any way, has always seemed suspect to me; even small inconveniences can breed feelings of neglect or resentment. To make indelible alterations, though – that’s hard to comprehend. And swearing allegiance to soy bacon is the sort of thing a person is going to have to learn to live with the rest of their life.

The rest of one’s life. That’s quite a lengthy period to talk about. (At least, the rest of my life is; if you’re not so keen on longevity, I suppose that’s up to you.) But whenever you go on a date – a real date, not an outlet for sexual frustration – that’s ultimately at the heart of what you’re doing: looking for someone with whom to spend a lifetime. If you’re not into astrology or Ouiji boards, how do you look that far ahead?

There was this show I saw over the summer called The Last Five Years. It’s a two-person musical that tells the story of a failed relationship. Here’s the catch: it is told chronologically (from when they meet) by the husband, and in reverse (from their separation) by the wife. They intersect in time only at the middle of the story, at their marriage. Then she continues backward, and he proceeds forward to the ending we already know.

The last number is heart breaking. She has just returned from their first date, and giddily sings, "Goodbye, until tomorrow; goodbye, until my feet touch the floor." Then the spotlight shifts, and we see him, five years older, wiser, and sadder; he leaves one last note for her, sets his wedding ring on top of it, and finishes the song, "Goodbye."

It’s hard for me to understand how anyone ever finds marriage to be a reasonable proposal – how you could make that kind of promise, or accept such a promise from someone else. People change, and I can’t imagine how painful it would be to fall out of love with the person who loves you, or to still be in love when they no longer are.

Obviously, I’m not claiming that marriage is an impossibility. It seems to work for a lot of people, my parents included (fortunately for me, since it took 11 years of wedded bliss before they got around to having kids). They’ve been married for 34 years now, and still appear very much in love. They certainly kiss often enough, anyways. But that could be because they find it amusing to hear my sister’s "Ewwww!" when she catches sight of them osculating.

Also, I find I can’t quite dismiss the notion of romantic relationships completely. The last time I was in the process of doing so, my friend cut me short when he suggested, "I think if you were able to escape childhood and still be able to enjoy a sunset by yourself as easily as with someone else, then you're good." It was nice, for a change, not just to be told that I’d understand in time. The problem, though, is that I like to share my sunsets.

It’s a lovely thought, in the abstract: to find the person whose company would keep you from ever being lonely again – who "makes you complete," as it’s so often phrased. But the fact is that a one-winged heart can’t do much but flap around in a circle; it’s nice to be able to fly solo if you so choose.

Thus, it’s a shame to turn Sweetest Day from a chance to appreciate all the people you love, into yet another focus on finding just one. Valentines Day is all well and good, but it gets its annual due, and ought to let the other holidays have their turn as well.

There’re an awful lot of good ones out there, too. Tomorrow, for example, starting at 6:02 a.m.: Mole Day.

(published in The Ram, 22 October 2003)