I’m not fond of Valentine’s Day. It’s always so… disappointing.

Don’t get me wrong. I like love as much as the next guy (or girl). I cried at the end of Love Story. I had posters of Bobby Sherman and Davey Jones tacked to my bedroom walls. In seventh grade I had a crush the size of Texas on Bruce Bagnasco, but Valentine’s Day isn’t about love.

Valentine’s Day is about perfection. The perfect card. The perfect gift. The perfect romantic getaway. The perfect relationship. Chocolates in red, heart-shaped boxes. Bountiful bouquets of bright red roses and sappy, “guess how much I love you” cards. Sparkly diamonds wrapped in satin-lined boxes.

Diamonds? Does anyone you know get diamonds for Valentine’s Day?

Perfection? Give me a break.

I stood staring at the cards in the Valentines Day section for at least 15 minutes. Opening and closing. Reading and skimming. I felt like Goldilocks trying out chairs. This one is too funny. This one is too sappy. Too sentimental. Too serious. You name it. Nothing. Not a single one spoke to me.

“My relationship is not here.” I said to the guy restocking the shelves. Apparently everyone else’s relationship was.

I went to another store. Another 15 minutes. Big cards. Little cards. Cards that talked and spun and sang. Nope. None of those worked either.

I walked into See’s Candies. The See’s woman greeted me at the door. “Would you like to try a chocolate?” she said, in a demonic temptress sort of way.

Was that a trick question? Sometimes I go in there with absolutely no intention of buying anything just to get the free sample. I’m all about free samples.

I grabbed three heart-shaped boxes and got in line. I failed in the card department, but at least I knew I was on the right track here. It’s all about the food in our house. I jumped back in the car and headed home.

“I don’t think Dad gets this whole Valentine’s Day present thing,” my youngest said when I walked in the door.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just that he treats it like Christmas or something.”

We have a joke in our house. The principal is not the best when it comes to picking out presents. He’s a blue collar, Midwestern sort of guy who, despite years of coaching by a wife who often doesn’t appreciate his practical tendencies, has never quite mastered the art of gift giving. He tries. Really he does. But somehow he never seems to get the reaction he’s hoping for.

On our first Valentine’s Day he gave me a toaster. A two slice, Westinghouse toaster with black plastic handles. I didn’t have a toaster and in those days I used to toast my bread under the broiler to various degrees of success. Too often, the toast burned and smoke filled the tiny rental on McPeak Street.

“Dammit,” I’d say as I pulled the charred bread from the rack.

On Valentines Day he handed me a box. A biggish box wrapped awkwardly in red paper. The principal is not much of a wrapper. Too big for candy. Too square for flowers and not at all the sort of box that you’d expect for diamonds.

It was, however, the perfect size for a toaster.

“A toaster?” I said just to be sure.

“Well, you needed one,” the principal said, clearly proud of himself. “I got tired of you burning your toast in the morning.”

See what I mean?

“Remember the time he gave you the free candles that he got at school?” my youngest one reminded me. “That was pretty funny.”

Yep. Hilarious.

On Valentines Day I placed the red, heart-shaped boxes on the breakfast table. Without cards to give them, I wrote messages in black Sharpie ink around the outside of the boxes. I struggled to find just the right words to say “I love you” to the three most important men in my life. It’s highly unlikely I’ll ever make it as a greeting card writer.

The problem is, love isn't perfect. Real love is messy. Confusing. Up and down and sideways. Real love is patience and forgiveness and taking a long, deep breath. Real love, the kind of I'll still love you when it isn't easy love is darn hard work.

The principal went away for a moment and when he came back he was carrying a beautiful heart shaped topiary in a small white bowl. He placed it on the table beside my breakfast plate.

The kids held their breath. We’ve been through this many times before.

“Happy Valentines Day,” he said sheepishly. You’ve got to give him credit. After all these years, he’s still in the game.

“You done good.” I said as I looked across the breakfast table. "You done good."