Valentines to Women and Girls I Love

February 2026

By Nancy Davidoff Kelton

To my hairdresser – Since my first appointment when you didn’t laugh or say “dream on” when I asked you to make me look like Michelle Pfeiffer, you have been shaping my hair very well, making it easy to comb out after shampooing or swimming without using a dryer. I also appreciate that even though you do a lot of hair coloring you have strongly advised me to avoid touching up the grey because it is growing in beautifully. I think so too. I love my grey hair.

To Ms. Clarkson, my second grade teacher – At a meeting with my parents, you told them I talked a lot in class, but it was not disruptive. You added that I had a lot to say, said it well on paper, was a good writer, and should continue writing. I have continued ─ all through school, all through life ─ essays, books, and now a play. You were the first person to encourage me.

To Grandma Davidoff – You stood 4 feet 9 inches, but to me you were tall and grand. You held your head high. You were sure of yourself and of every member of your family. You constantly praised your children and grandchildren. I spent the four-day car ride to Miami in the back seat with you listening to your stories about Moshington and Toshington. When we got out, you said to my parents, “I didn’t realize how smart Nancy is.” I said, “Grandma, I hardly said a word the whole way.” You responded, “That’s why.”

To Aunt Yetta – On Sunday morning when Dad and I visited you and Grandma, you always had warm, freshly baked teiglach and warm milk for me. I didn’t tell you then but that made me feel special. I didn’t tell you then either that I thought your toilet came with the blue water that was in it. Or that being at your house and then upstairs at Grandma’s was the safest most loving place in the world.

To the librarian at the North Park Branch of the Buffalo Public Library – When I came in with my mother and she headed to adult books, you let me sprawl out on the floor of the children’s section with books you and I picked for me. We talked about them. You read to me. My first summer job was at that library. I recommended books to customers. At 20, I worked at the NYU Library and now, as a resident of Greenwich Village, I take out books from the Jefferson Market branch. Library visits have been a major part of my routine since I met you.

Dear Caroline – When you accepted my article One Day in the Life of a Divorced Mother for publication, you paid me more than any editor ever had and said that going forward, you would raise my fee, and I should send my essays or a short pitch directly to you, the editor-in chief. You changed nothing or just a word here and there in my work. “It only takes one” my father had said with every rejection. You changed my life, big time.

Dear Anne Frank – The Anne Frank Exhibit at the Center for Jewish History is across the street from my apartment. It is so poignant. I saw it twice, stare daily at the banners of you, and reread your diary. You were an extraordinary writer, an extraordinary human being, and so much more. I feel as if you’re my best friend.

Dear Miranda – When my play won Long Beach Playhouse’s New Works Festival, you cast and directed it beautifully. The reading and talkback exceeded my expectations. Thank you for understanding my work and me.

Dear Mom – Dad used to say you had class. I didn’t see that. I did not understand you, your struggles and mental illness. Plus, I thought class was a Kennedy thing. Ha! Now I see you not only had class ─ you had moxie, insightfulness, a progressive, independent spirit, and could express yourself. You taught me to express myself, too. What valuable, loving gifts, Mom! I am grateful for all you gave me.

Dear Granddaughter Charlotte – When I met you 10 years ago an hour after you were born, you were smiley and adorable. When I got to read to you and we snuggled up on your bed with your stuffed animals, I didn’t think it could be sweeter. When we play school, it is particularly fun when you were the teacher even though you remind me I am really a teacher. As Oscar Hammerstein wrote, “If you become a teacher, by your pupils you’ll be taught.” You teach me all the time, honey. You ask the greatest questions and share the smartest most interesting thoughts. You are so expressive, funny, and lovable and clearly your own person. Lucky me!

Dear Emily, my daughter – Your spirit was shining when you sat in your infant seat next to the piano singing and waving your arms as I played. Wow! Now decades later, your spirit along with your empathy, warmth, intelligence, sense of humor, love for your kids, husband, and me all shine. I could go on. I beam when I look at you, your pictures, and your children. Your beauty is present. Inside and out. Your talent for working and juggling everything makes me swell up with pride. You fill every corner of my heart and life. I am blessed by who you are.