All I Need Is Love ... But A Little Chocolate Now and Then Doesn't Hurt

My father worked in Manhattan for many years and commuted on the train each day. He would often bring us home special surprises or goodies and my siblings and I thought that anything that came from 'the city' must be very special.

One time he came home with soft pretzels he bought from a street food vendor. Another time I got a 'Thriller-Look-A-Like' red leather jacket that caught his eye, also from a street vendor (ahem). Our most memorable surprise was when Dad walked in the door with a kitten he adopted from a city shelter.

But the treat I always looked forward to most of all was the box of chocolates he would bring home for us on Valentine's Day. We would each get a small, heart-shaped box of assorted chocolates, decorated with frilly lace, red ribbon and pink bows. Mom would always get a larger box, naturally, along with red and white flowers of some kind.

Looking back, I'm sure the chocolates were your standard variety, but to me they tasted as if they were hand made by an artisan chocolatier. Maybe I thought the chocolates tasted better because they had traveled such a long way but I remember the anticipation of untying the ribbon and opening the box. I would excitedly look at each piece , trying to decide which to try first, and then savor each bite slowly, knowing that I had waited all year for them and didn't want them to be gone quickly.

It was a tradition in the making, although I didn't realize it at the time. That's why I was thrilled when, after having children of my own, my husband began bringing home chocolates and flowers for our girls. Even after receiving tons of chocolate at their school Valentine's Day party, they still were most excited about their special hearts that daddy was bringing home.

And they thought it was the best chocolate they had ever eaten ... even if it didn't come on a train.