My First Valentine

 February 12, 2022

The first boy I ever loved was a boy named Saburo.  He was in my kindergarten class, and I remember the day I first became aware of him.  He sat next to me on the rug in the classroom.  We were seated in little rows and columns, all facing the teacher.  She announced that she was going to go down each row and have us all show her whether or not we knew how to tie our shoes.  Apparently, this was part of the curriculum back then. I suppose it was so because a teacher of five-year-olds wouldn’t have time for much else if she had to spend all of her time stopping to tie children’s shoes all day long.  Anyone my age will recognize that this was in the time before Velcro, so learning to tie one’s shoes was a necessary life skill.

I sat about four rows back, and the teacher started with the first row of children, asking each child to demonstrate mastery of tying their shoes.  I started to panic–just a little at first, but growing with each subsequent masterful display.  It seemed as if I was the only student whose mom had forgotten to pass on that particular bit of knowledge, and I was going to be the only one in class unable to perform the task at hand.  Clearly, I was beginning to be visibly agitated; I didn’t want to disappoint my teacher or be embarrassed in front of the class.  Tears clouded my eyes and I stared down at my feet, shod in the little shoes that would be my undoing.

Suddenly, a quiet voice said gently, “Do you not know how to tie your shoes?”  There was no judgment, just a sincere acknowledgement of my discomfort.  I looked at Saburo and sadly shook my head. “No, I don’t know.”  I barely trusted myself to speak, afraid that I would dissolve into tears.  “I can show you how, if you want. I know how.”  Gratefully, I nodded.  He reached over to my shoe and began, “You take each string and make a bunny ear out of each…”  He was direct and efficient, and most importantly, he didn’t draw attention to us as he quickly and quietly taught me what to do.  

By the time my teacher got to Saburo and me, I had had an opportunity to practice a few times and managed to make a decent showing. He didn’t realize it at the time, but he had come to my rescue and I thought he was wonderful.  In that tiny gesture was the beginning of a fast friendship that would last for four years, until his family moved back to Japan.  ( We actually reunited many, many years later, but that is a story for another time.)  I loved him.  I loved him in the simple way children love each other–innocently, wholly, and without reservation.  We were inseparable, we two.  A simple act in the right moment was all it took, and he had my heart.