It is most unfortunate for my wife that I am devoid of any inherent romanticism. I am simply not romantic. Oh, I have tried, and sadly failed. I feel like a chimp wearing a suit when I try to be romantic. It just doesn't fit, and it looks comical no matter how fine the quality of the suit.
I have a friend who claims he has no natural understanding of poetry. He just doesn't get it. Poetry has no meaning to him. It does not resonate with anything within him. I have to imagine that any poem he might try to write would be as successful as a poem as my failed attempts at romanticism are at romance. To the best of my knowledge he never even made the attempt.
It is not for lack of love for my wife. Indeed, that love has grown deeper over the years. Unfortunately, the way I have expressed that love was to stick to a series of generally crappy jobs to provide for her and the kids. I have done some very unpleasant things to make a buck, and generally have given every one of those dollars to her. Real love, but not romantic love.
Perhaps I tend to give up at things like 'romance' too quickly. I once waded up to my waist in a vile chemical ooze as part of my job by which I earned money for my family. I worked diligently until I dislodged the blockage and got the ooze running to the place ooze was supposed to go. My wife and kids didn't see me do that. I did it for them. Yet I have not managed to stick to the 'romance' thing long enough to even master a comical mimicry.
As a correctional officer I wrestled a guy covered in urine not once but twice in the same week. Well, two separate guys, but they both had pissed themselves and I had to wrestle them in the performance of my duty. Twice in one week. I did it because I love my wife and the family we share. It was very far from being romantic.
I have been shocked by high voltage electricity, exposed to way too many chemicals, acquired a disease that will remain with me the rest of my life, exposed to radiation, insulted and disrespected, all to provide for my family. I did it willingly, because I love my wife and the children that resulted from that love. It was my poem to them. My unromantic failed Valentine poem lived for them.
I have not given her much in the way of diamonds. Indeed, I don't see why they are valuable, or why it is important to own them. I gave her children, and the children have given us children, and they are much more valuable to me. I can write that here, but when I try to express such thoughts to her they fall flat. I don't know why. Perhaps if I were inherently romantic I would know how to do it right.
I ordered her flowers. Once. She loved them. Unfortunately, she is the one who pays the bills, and paying for the flowers I gave her didn't spark the same feelings as receiving them. Since I give her all of the money I earn, I don't really know how to do it in a better way. Take on an extra job so I have money for flowers? Great! I have to spend even more time away from her to buy her dying foliage! I have some trouble seeing the romance in that.
Quite simply, I am a Valentine Failure. A chimp in a suit. This blog is probably just the very most wrong thing I can do. I love you, Linda. I may suck at expressing it, but I do love you. Twenty years of wrestling drunks may not be a Valentine, but I did that, and more, for you.
I am currently 62 years old. At present I am a retired correctional officer with 20 years of service. (My real job these days is being a Grandpa.)
I am married to my long-suffering wife, Linda. I have three children; Matthew, Beth, and Jon. I currently have six grandchildren; Alexandra, Madelyn, Wyatt, Lucas, Abigail and Landon.