Star Gazing

On Saturday night, the sky was filled with stars. I walked under them without seeing, my head too full of obligations, trivial concerns, and to-do lists.

“Mom, that do you see that one right there?” My daughter stood frozen on the back porch, her index finger aimed at the sky. “That’s my lucky star. I made a wish and it came true.”

I pretended to know exactly which star she was pointing to, but in fact, her pointing simply directed me to the sky and I was mesmerized by what I’d failed to notice -- a sea of sequins on a backdrop of black.

“What was your wish?” I asked.
Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. “I can’t tell. Star wishes are secret!”
I smiled. Star wishes --- it’s been a long time.

Later that evening I tucked my daughter into bed and she hugged her new stuffed pig close to her chest.

“My wish wouldn’t have come true without you,” she told the pig.
I waited, confused.
“Piggie is a SHINING STAR stuffed animal,” she said, flipping his hoof to show me the silver star stuck to the bottom. “When you have a SHINING STAR, you get to make special wishes.”

The childhood ritual of wishing on stars has been, for my child, corrupted by commercialism. Instead of seeing the magic in a twinkling light, she has equated star-gazing with owning the toy-0f-the-week. Those who own the toy have “the power.” I couldn’t let this slide.

“Stars have their own magic,” I told her. “SHINING STARS are just a reminder to look around you and notice when magic happens. Even if you don’t have a SHINING STAR, you can make wishes on stars. I never had a SHINING STAR, but I made lots of wishes on real stars, and sometimes my wishes came true.”
She nodded with the wisdom of six, and put her piggie to the side.
“What did you wish for? What came true?” she asked.
A piece of me wanted to parrot: “Star wishes are secret!”
But her eyes were wide with curiosity and wonder, and I decided to tell her:

“One time I wished for a daughter with a wonderful imagination who believes in magic all around us.”

She smiled and gave me a big hug. “I guess your wish DID come true. You got me!”

After tucking her in, I went back on the porch and watched a star race across the night. I haven’t actually seen a shooting star in years.

I tried to push my to-do lists out of my mind and focus on just one thing -- the contrast between black and the white. I closed my eyes and let the sounds of the Autumn night fill my head. And I made a wish.

I’d tell you what it was, but I can’t: “Star wishes are secret.”