I first heard the song “Don’t Forget The Star” during a drive home last month. It was barely past Thanksgiving, but the Christian music station I listen to had already switched to their Christmas playlist. Amidst the traditional songs, an unfamiliar tune caught my attention. I turned up the volume to follow the story in the lyrics. “Don’t Forget The Star” begins with a flashback to Christmas as a child, to a time when Christmas meant presents and new toys. The grandpa in the song, however, pointed to the star on top of the tree and taught the child the true meaning of Christmas, in the promise of God’s son. When the child in the song grew up, he passed along this lesson to his own child.
The Christian band Sidewalk Prophets released “Don’t Forget The Star” in 2013, but I was glad it came into my life this year. My own grandpa had been in assisted living following a stroke last October, and visits became more challenging after the onset of the pandemic. Mom and I would show up outside the window of his room and call his phone. “Who are you?” he’d say, holding the receiver to his ear and squinting at us through the window. He knew it was us, but we received the same greeting each time. “Are you lost? Or are you sellin’ something?” During one hot summer visit, Mom and I brought an umbrella to use as a parasol. Grandpa teased that it was raining sunshine.
Since we often visited around the dinner hour, he asked if we wanted something to eat, or if we planned to visit at any other windows. “It’ll be gettin’ dark soon. Do you think you can find your way home?” he’d ask as the conversation drew to a close, and we assured him we would be fine. We’d exchange “so longs”--never “goodbyes”--until our next visit.
Looking back, perhaps this ritual was our own version of The Posada, a Christmas tradition in Latin America and among Hispanic communities. A procession of musicians and children knock on doors to reenact Mary and Joseph’s search for a room at the inn. I imagine my grandpa’s remarks fitting into the traditional exchanges: “Are you lost?” “Can you find your way?” “Try another room.” At the end of The Posada festival, children break open a star-shaped piñata.
Our family doesn’t have a set Christmas tradition. Over the years, our traditions have evolved with our family. The early Christmases of my childhood began with my grandparents joining us for breakfast and gifts. After my grandma passed away, Grandpa took over gift-giving and became quite creative in his wrapping techniques. He covered presents in layers of newspaper and empty chip bags, secured with a combination of masking, electric, and pilfer-proof packing tape. In recent years, our family has gathered for a belated Christmas meal and gift-exchange at Blazing Bills, Grandpa’s favorite rib place down the road from his home in Burton, Ohio.
Since we often visited around the dinner hour, he asked if we wanted something to eat, or if we planned to visit at any other windows. “It’ll be gettin’ dark soon. Do you think you can find your way home?” he’d ask as the conversation drew to a close, and we assured him we would be fine. We’d exchange “so longs”--never “goodbyes”--until our next visit.
Looking back, perhaps this ritual was our own version of The Posada, a Christmas tradition in Latin America and among Hispanic communities. A procession of musicians and children knock on doors to reenact Mary and Joseph’s search for a room at the inn. I imagine my grandpa’s remarks fitting into the traditional exchanges: “Are you lost?” “Can you find your way?” “Try another room.” At the end of The Posada festival, children break open a star-shaped piñata.
Our family doesn’t have a set Christmas tradition. Over the years, our traditions have evolved with our family. The early Christmases of my childhood began with my grandparents joining us for breakfast and gifts. After my grandma passed away, Grandpa took over gift-giving and became quite creative in his wrapping techniques. He covered presents in layers of newspaper and empty chip bags, secured with a combination of masking, electric, and pilfer-proof packing tape. In recent years, our family has gathered for a belated Christmas meal and gift-exchange at Blazing Bills, Grandpa’s favorite rib place down the road from his home in Burton, Ohio.
Grandpa loved his old century farmhouse, overlooking the garden and wooded land that he referred to as “God’s ten acres.” He ordered seeds from a catalog each spring, and when it became too difficult to plant them himself, he recruited my sisters and me to help. The seeds looked like stars scattered across the dark, well-tended dirt. “Maybe the earth is a seed,” Grandpa once said, “just sittin’ out there in space, waiting to grow up.” He was fascinated by life’s mysteries.
On December 21, three days after Grandpa passed away, Jupiter and Saturn crossed paths in the night sky. This conjunction, also known as the Star of Bethlehem, had guided the Magi on their journey two-thousand years ago. Unfortunately, Cleveland was covered in a thick blanket of clouds all week, like a solid layer of pilfer-proof tape. The only time the clouds parted was during Grandpa’s funeral service--the sun shining briefly during the sounding of Taps. The clouds returned by dusk, before we could catch a glimpse of the Christmas Star.
Even though I never saw it myself, I think of the grandpa's lesson in the Sidewalk Prophets song: Don’t forget the star. Past the clouds, in the great expanse of sky, I hear my own grandpa’s voice reminding me of mysteries, mysteries, mysteries we as humans never will understand.
On December 21, three days after Grandpa passed away, Jupiter and Saturn crossed paths in the night sky. This conjunction, also known as the Star of Bethlehem, had guided the Magi on their journey two-thousand years ago. Unfortunately, Cleveland was covered in a thick blanket of clouds all week, like a solid layer of pilfer-proof tape. The only time the clouds parted was during Grandpa’s funeral service--the sun shining briefly during the sounding of Taps. The clouds returned by dusk, before we could catch a glimpse of the Christmas Star.
Even though I never saw it myself, I think of the grandpa's lesson in the Sidewalk Prophets song: Don’t forget the star. Past the clouds, in the great expanse of sky, I hear my own grandpa’s voice reminding me of mysteries, mysteries, mysteries we as humans never will understand.