— A Sweet Glimpse into My Mother’s Teenage Years—

While sorting through my mother’s things after she passed, I found a small, worn postcard. The edges were frayed, and the handwriting had faded with time. But the message felt timeless. It was addressed to Miss Mary Brigandi, my mother, when she was just 15, living in Long Island City, New York.

The postcard, postmarked in 1945 from Toronto, came from a boy named Johnny. His words were simple, honest, and full of teenage charm. Johnny admitted he was the sender of a mysterious Valentine’s card she had received earlier—the one that read, “Guess who?” He confessed he never had the courage to ask her to the movies when they were classmates. Even after moving away, he still thought about her.

“No matter what you think of me, I still think you’re swell,” he wrote. Johnny compared her to the girls in his new town. None of them matched her spirit. “They all have different sorts of minds,” he added.

The front of the postcard showed a grand building, likely in Toronto, with a bright red roof against a blue sky. It felt like the perfect backdrop for this sweet, simple note.

Finding this postcard felt like uncovering a hidden treasure. It gave me a glimpse of my mother’s teenage years—full of friendships, shy admirers, and the sweet ache of young love. It’s a reminder that even brief connections leave lasting marks on our hearts.

As Valentine’s Day approaches, Johnny’s words feel even more touching. A forgotten Valentine, sealed in time, now bridges me to my mother’s past. I imagine her reading it, smiling softly, then tucking it away as a cherished memory. Now, it’s part of her story—and mine.