Each year as Valentine’s Day approaches, I find myself floating back in time and reliving the cupidic-invoked euphoria I experienced on February fourteenth when I was seventeen going on twenty-one. “There’s no love like young love,” the Valentine cherub whispers. “But, what constitutes young? More importantly, what defines love?

The card arrived on Valentine’s Day 1966. My name bounced across the breadth of the envelope in peacock blue ink. I don’t recall the card’s printed message, but I vividly recall its big P.S., a one-liner scrawled across the bottom of the card in that flamboyant ink. “When are you coming up?” 

I knew the first time I ever met Bill Pinson that our paths would cross again. I just didn’t know when or how. We were introduced by my cousin Bruce, and we clicked the moment we met. When Bruce brought Bill home from college in 1964 for a Christmas visit, I arranged a date for Bill with a girl friend. We double-dated, but Bill and I spent most of the evening talking with each other. Though the time we spent together was limited, I couldn’t get Bill Pinson out of my mind. The chances of us ever getting together again (at least, as I perceived us “getting together”) seemed unlikely. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, I was certain that Bill Pinson was the man I’d one day marry. There was no doubt in my mind. However, as time passed and nothing happened to confirm my feelings, I tried dismissing my fantasies as wish fulfillment or, perhaps, being in love with love.

Six months after our introduction, just as I’d given up all hope of ever seeing the man in my mind again, Bill cruised into town once more. He was driving a little red Karman Ghia with a black top--a real class act compared to my dilapidated turquoise Rambler, which  my friends and I called “The Hornet.” On this visit, Bill arranged his own dates, and he arranged them all with me! 

It was mid-summer, the moon was full, and I felt a sense of happiness I’d never before experienced. Not only was Bill more fun to be with than any male I’d ever known, but I felt I could safely bare and share the very core of my soul with him. We’d laugh and laugh and laugh, then we’d talk about serious things. I was smitten, and attempting to camouflage my affinity for this young man presented an unprecedented challenge for me. Yet, as a southern girl with innate female wiles, I’d remind myself that this was a man who favored peacock-blue. It would behoove me to follow the female peacock’s example by not revealing how impressed I was with this Romeo’s song and dance. 

Our visit that afternoon was a foursome again, like when we first met. However, this time it was Bill, Bruce, a friend of theirs, and me. We sat in the living room of my home for a couple of hours and talked, talked, talked. Well, actually, I did most of the talking! I always do whenever I’m nervous or excited--and I was both. I couldn’t understand why the male trio kept looking at their watches and giggling. They finally explained that they were timing me to see how long I could go without talking. I amazed them with statistics they couldn’t believe!

As Bill left, he gave me a schedule of his school’s upcoming basketball games. “Listen, Luv,” he said, “I want you to come up one week-end to see me.” He smiled the smile I already loved. “I’ll make arrangements for you to stay in one of the girls’ dorms.”

“Aha--the confirmation of my destiny?” I mused. But I didn’t want him to suspect my feelings (female wiles at work again). “Oh, I’d really love to, dahlin’--really, I would. But I just don’t know if I’ll be able to work it in on such short notice. I’ll have to check my calendar...”

I checked my calendar, and it was free. I decided not to respond, rather wait for Bill to contact me again. If he really wanted to see me again, he’d contact me--sooner or later. A month later, I received the Valentine card from him with the peacock blue P.S. I decided it was time to do some reality testing, and so I responded with a one-liner of my own, penned in an invincible magenta ink. “Are you really serious about me coming up?”

In the return mail, not six months later this time, I received an enthusiastic affirmation. It read: Yes, yes, yes--in peacock blue, of course. Two and a half years later, affirmative I do, I do, I do’s were exchanged
between Bill and me, and my cousin Bruce pronounced us husband and wife till “death do us part.”

There is no place for an “I love you, I love you not...” yo-yo syndrome in a healthy marriage. When a sincere commitment is made to love, you love. And if there are times when you feel like you can’t love with your heart or emotions, then you show love, to the best of your ability, through your actions and commitment--and pray the love you once felt returns. I once heard an expression that summarizes this kind of love: “I like you because, I love you although...”

I no longer look like a seventeen going on twenty-one-year-old, but I have no problems conjuring up some of the same romantic feelings I experienced at that age. In fact, many of these feelings are even stronger at the ripe old age of forty-plus than when I was forty-minus. I believe youth is a state-of-mind, and young love can be experienced at any age. I’m already fantasizing about love as an octogenarian--can hardly wait!