“We must make the boxes!” the elementary school teacher barked at the group of kindergartners sitting on the floor.

I was one of those students, and I nodded in agreement. We all nodded. The time had come to make the boxes.

Everyone was handed a shoe box and soon we were gluing construction paper, tissue, and newspapers on to them. A small rectangular hole was cut on the top. Some had glitter sprinkled on them while others had paper hearts affixed to the sides.

Valentine’s day was approaching and these were our mailboxes, eager to accept the valentines from our fellow students. Maybe a cherry flavor sucker would make its way in, if you were lucky. We lined them up on a table, ready for the big day.

The teacher implemented a classroom rule: you had to get every student a card. No skipping anyone.

Excited, my mom and I went to the grocery store and bought an inexpensive box of Valentine’s cards, designed for this very thing. They weren’t large at all, maybe 3 inches by 4 inches. My mom let me pick out the design I liked.

I went home, tore into the box, and wrote messages in each card to my classmates. Neatly, I printed their names on the outside of the envelopes and stuffed the cards in them.

I didn’t want to lick the glue and my kindergarten mind didn’t come up with the solution of running a damp sponge across the seal, so I stuck them in my book bag unsealed.

When I arrived at school, and the teacher gave the signal we could start stuffing the mailboxes, I realized in horror over half of my cards had fallen out of the envelopes. They weren’t in my book bag either.

Ridden with guilt and shame, I placed the empty envelopes into the Valentine’s day boxes.

And I waited. I waited for someone to say, “I didn’t get a card from Carrie,” but no one ever did.

I was safe.

Happy Valentine’s Day this year and happy Valentine’s Day next year.