What do black and white (pink) cookies, ladybug headphones and Beanie Boos with pink glitter eyes have in common? They’re all gifts I have received from my parents on Valentine’s Day throughout the years.

Getting Valentine’s Day presents from my mom and dad didn’t feel weird when I was a kid. No part of the day was about romance. In elementary school, we’d decorate brown paper bags and pass out the valentines we brought for the whole class. You weren’t allowed to bring presents for just your friends — Valentine’s Day was for everyone.

In middle school, my friends were starting to get boyfriends, and I began to feel lonely on Valentine’s Day. It no longer felt like Valentine’s Day was for me. I remember posting something along the lines of, “when no boy likes you so the only valentine you get is from ur parents>>>” on VSCO.

I began to resent my parents for being my valentines. Something about getting a valentine from your parents was worse than getting nothing at all. It was a total consolation prize.

Last year was the first Valentine’s Day of my life where I had an actual valentine to celebrate with. Coincidentally enough, I spent pretty much the entire day thinking about my mom. I did a “Paint The Rock” for Sharsheret Pink Day, a breast cancer awareness initiative around the time people are wearing pink anyway.

Love isn’t always about grand gestures, but spending more than 24 hours in the freezing cold felt like a good way to honor my mom, a breast cancer survivor. Getting to spend Valentine’s Day last year speaking with members of the Northwestern community about the importance of breast cancer awareness and my personal connection to it helped me feel closer to my mom, someone who constantly empowers me, on a day that can make people feel so small.

I think there was a part of me last year that knew that when you’re young, romantic relationships come and go — it’s non-romantic love that’s important to hold on to.

Being away at college has made me acutely aware of how lucky I am that every year, my parents will be my valentines. I grew up going to summer camp; I’m used to being away from home. Still, knowing I’ll never really live at home again, I feel a sense of longing for my childhood I never could have predicted.

It’s weird how quickly relationships change as you grow up. Love no longer feels like an obligation, it feels like an intention.

At the end of the day, there have been no two people more consistently there for me and loving towards me than my parents. I owe so much to them and the life they provided me, and when I say I love them, it’s not because they’re my parents and I have to.

I finally understand that my parents didn’t have to get me valentines growing up. Not everyone celebrates Valentine’s Day — but I did because that was my parents’ intention.

I do not have a real valentine this year — I guess it’s back to my parents. Although, for the first time in as long as I can remember, no part of me has a problem with that.

With all that being said: Mom and Dad, I know you both read this, and I also know I didn’t get a valentine from either of you last year. What do you say about bringing that back?

Sylvie Slotkin is a Medill sophomore. She can be contacted at [email protected]. If you would like to respond publicly to this op-ed, send a Letter to the Editor to [email protected]. The views expressed in this piece do not necessarily reflect the views of all staff members of The Daily Northwestern.