It’s lovely to receive a Valentine’s Day card, with or without a box of chocolates. I’ve always thought of it as a secondary kind of holiday and never got too involved in it, but this Valentine’s Day is different.

I was reading the Sunday New York Times, which is usually where you can find me on any given Sunday morning. I usually skip the wedding section, having no relevance to me, but today was different. There was a story about the wedding of Caroline Combs, a teacher and John Dansby, a nurse. From their photograph, I knew she was White, and he was Black, but the surprising thing that absolutely thrilled me was that none of the copy brought up that they were of different races.

There were no questions like, “But what about the eventual kids?” or “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” There was nothing, nada, about their racial differences or likenesses. Being in an interracial relationship is usually the main topic of “love stories,” and I’m sick of reading about them.

But on the other side of the coin is the people who state, “we are all just human.” True, we are, but there are societal differences and likenesses, as there are in most human beings. We know there are medical influences in people of different races. Sure, I could point out that my husband is an American poet with Portuguese roots and I’m a White, Jewish woman from Detroit with Multiracial children, but we don’t need to point it out to tell our story.

I’m proud of the Times for publishing the story without discussion of races. Happy Valentines Day to Caroline and John and to my husband and I, together for 27 years and still going strong.