VALENTINE'S DAY GIFT
by Marie Delgado Travis
"Oh no!" I cried, dropping my jump rope, pigtails still flapping in mid-air. My Dad had just shown me the Valentine's Day present he had purchased for my Mom. I understood that an electric iron was handy, particularly for a mother who dutifully--nay, lovingly--ironed everything--dishrags, handkerchiefs, my father's boxer shorts. But for Valentine's Day?
"Gee, Papi, couldn't you be a bit more romantic?"
"Romantic? Ay, esta muchacha," he shook his head.
"Please take me shopping with you," I begged. "I'll show you what she likes!"
It was, after all, pre-credit and Target gift card days--late fifties and I was only ten. I needed him around--although I was beginning to think men were quite useless. The boys at school sure were.
"We'll find something nice! You can give her the iron, too, if you want. But you'll see....," I nodded knowingly.
On Saturday morning, my father and I walked two Bronx station stops from where we lived. The morning was crisp and clear--perfect weather for a leisurely stroll. Allerton Avenue was a bustling little shopping district, with storefronts one after the other, after the other. We were certain to find something wonderful for my mother there, I thought.
A pre-season sundress on display in a store window caught my eye. This, despite the fact that I was terribly myopic and wore extra-thick glasses which fogged,as we wove in and out of shops.
"Let's go in," I shouted, pointing to the dress.
All of the clothes and jewelry shops in the neighborhood seemed to be owned by Jewish merchants. Italians seemed to corner the market on romantic items, such as and beauty products. The Irish owned the neighborhood pubs and there was always the single neighborhood Chinese Restaurant (above) and Hand Laundry (below). Neither of these establishments knew from starch like my Puerto Rican Mom.
The door bell tinkled and waxed wood floor creaked, announcing a new batch of customers.
"May I help you?" the shopkeeper inquired snootily from behind his spectacles. A tape measure hung down from his neck, ready for action.
"How much is that doggie--I mean, that dress--in the window?" I piped in, forgetting that I was supposed to act naturally timid and shy. I pointed to the sleeveless white dress with the blue and purple flowers. It had an extra-wide skirt, which I could imagine hiding under in case of an emergency. It also featured a matching belt, which I knew would make my mother's waist seem tiny.
"Are you sure the dress will fit your mother?" my father worried.
"Oh, yes! It's perfect!" I assured him.
The shopkeeper checked the tag and announced "la dolorosa." Noting how my father's mouth fell open, he quickly added:
"But you're in luck! We're having our annual sale and everything is fifteen percent off!"
He removed the dress from the mannequin in the window and let me touch it.
"Oh, it's beautiful," I sighed. "Can we buy it, pretty please, Papi?" I knew those words, coupled with just the right pout, were extremely effective.
"Fine, fine," my father said, checking his watch.
I now had the privilege of selecting the wrapping paper and coordinate the color of the bow. I watched spellbound, as the shopkeeper's assistant lined the gift box with tissue paper, folded the dress carefully and crease the edges of the outside foil "just so."
"Wanna ride the train home?" my father asked, as we exited the shop with our precious cargo.
"Home? But Papi, we're not finished yet!"
"Que?" he asked, eyes popping out. "Do you have any idea how expensive that dress was, muchacha?"
"But Dad, it isn't romantic if you don't buy candy and flowers!"
"Humph, romantic!" he huffed, confident that as a red-blooded Hispanic, he had already written the definitive book on the subject. Lucky for my Mom, he went along with the gag. In retrospect, he was probably in hot water with my Mom for one reason or another, as we spoke.
On nearby Burke Avenue, we found an Italian-owned flower shop. Red roses turned out to be pricier than I imagined. I wanted something dramatic anyway, so I chose a big bunch of gladiola in mixed colors. As we left the flower shop to resume our brisk constitutional, we were already becoming quite the sensation. Old ladies smiled, misty-eyed, men tipped their hats seriously and little kids swarmed around us.
Make way for love, I thought, happily.
As we approached the corner of Gun Hill and White Plains, I tugged my Dad's winter jacket and puckered my lips to signal Evander Sweet Shop, since my mittened hands were loaded with the gift box and flowers.
"Oh, all right! Chocolates!" my father murmured in despair. "Remind me never to take you shopping!"
Inside the warmth of the candy store, there was a gleaming soda fountain, with counter stools almost as tall as I was.
"Want sasparilla?" my father offered.
"Nah, that's okay, Dad," I shrugged, not wanting to abuse. I checked the display of Valentine's Candy and selected a very sensible box of Whitman's Sampler.
"You can tell the filling with this one," I explained.
Goodies in hand, we marched to the corner by the Church, so we could sneak in through the back entrance of our building. We imagined that on such a fine day, my mother would be downstairs, giving my baby brother "healthy air," instead of ironing. Instead, she surprised us by opening the door to the apartment, as soon as she heard us fumbling with the keys.
"Dios mio!" she exclaimed. "All for me?"
"Yes, Mami! Papi bought you ALL this and an iron, too!" I blurted, accidentally spoiling the piece de resistance.
Valentine's was the next day, but aw, close enough, I figured. It would have been tricky to hide the large bouquet in the fridge without her noticing, anyway.
It's never too soon for Valentine's Day, I sighed self-satisfied, as I watched my Mom throw her arms around my father.
"Muua, muua, muua! Gracias, gracias, gracias."
She was obviously not used to being treated so nicely,
Dad and I followed pretty much the same routine the next year. This time, the dress was cream-colored with a violet floral design. The bouquet featured daffodils, like the poem Sister made us memorize for English class. A heart-shaped box of Brach's Chocolates was thrown in for good measure. Now that I think of it, my Dad was probably in the doghouse again or he never would have agreed to take me shopping.
The presents I chose for my mother were always a big hit. I especially loved summer days when she wore one of the dresses and sat on the benches in front of the building, minding my little brother. Some neighborhood kid would always run up to me and say, "Your Mom is so pretty" or "Shucks, I wish MY Mom were as young as yours!"
When Dad came home with a non-stick frying pan the following Valentine's Day, I realized what an uphill battle it was. I decided to stop playing Cupid and try to find a little Valentine of my own.
MARIE DELGADO TRAVIS is proud of her Nuyorican roots. She has won awards for her poetry and prose in English and Spanish. Visit her website at http://www.mariedelgadotravis.com.
