I know this is not the most shocking of statements, but I was sometimes a difficult child.

Kim wrote a bit about her memories of Valentine's Day last week, and it triggered a memory.

I remember when I was about in third grade. The teacher had written the name of all the students in our class on the blackboard so that we could give a Valentine to each child. This was not uncommon at that time. I, of course, didn't copy the list. I'm not sure what I did. Maybe I zoned out. Maybe I acted like I was writing things down. Maybe I was reading Are You There God, It's Me Margaret. All I know is that I didn't write the list.

So on the evening of February the 13th, I remember sitting with mother in the living room with a pained, stressed looked on her face, as she asked me "and WHO sits next to Lois, Tim?" I also recall that the difficult names stressed her out, and I was in class with a Yashicka.

The distance of the years clouds the details, mostly the detail of "WHY DIDN'T MOTHER JUST SEND ME TO SCHOOL WITH THIRTY BLANK CARDS WITH MY NAME SIGNED ON THEM?!" but that's okay. I'm just glad that my mother had the patience of a saint. She needed it.

I was a social retard as a kid (I may well still be one, but would I know if I were?); most of the Valentines I got in my mandatory "mail" box weren't even addressed to me. Those that were came from people who did as they were directed and gave them to everyone. So, that meant I usually had maybe five Valentines in a homeroom class of thirty people.

Not too much has changed here.