If I Only Had a…

Strange, huh: the Tin Man writing about Valentine’s Day. Well, to make something clear: I didn’t choose the name Tin Man because I don’t have a heart. I chose the name Tin Man because I do have a heart. Confused? Here’s an explanation (scroll down).

This has got to be one of the more depressing Valentine’s Day stories I’ve read.

As for me, I don’t have too many memorable Valentine’s Day stories. Let’s see:

February 14, 1990: I find out that I’ve got the part I wanted in my high school’s spring musical, “Anything Goes.” (Did I mention I’m gay?)

February 14, 1992: My first Valentine’s Day back in the States after three years away; I’m single, but it’s sunny and mild out, and I get an early case of spring fever. (Why is a holiday for lovebirds nestled in the depths of winter?)

February 14, 1994 (I think this was the year): After receiving my annual Valentine’s Day card in the mail from my mom, I call her up and tell her that I really don’t want her to send them anymore. I tell her it’s because a 20-year-old guy shouldn’t be getting Valentine’s Day cards from his mom. (The subtext here, which I don’t tell her, is that it just adds to the patheticness of my being single. The other reason, which I also don’t tell her, is that I’m already sexually confused enough without having to add Oedipal complications.)

February 14, 1999: For the first (and, so far, only) time, I’m dating someone on Valentine’s Day. He and I go out for a quasi-romantic dinner at a gay-owned restaurant.

February 14, 2001 (anticipated): “The West Wing.”

Here’s to a Valentine-filled future.