I am one of those people who doesn’t look at the holidays as a series of individual dates.
From Thanksgiving to St. Nicholas Day to Christmas to New Year to Epiphany, each day is a bright light strung on a wire, illuminating the darkest days of the year. In between are the other little moments that lend their own sparkle — shopping, wrapping, baking, singing.
Pull out any one of those moments, and like a burned-out bulb, it dims the whole strand. It is the shine of the whole season that lights up things.
And for me, that season started with the lighting of a tree.
It wasn’t in a town square. It wasn’t in Downtown Pittsburgh. Those trees are beautiful, and I love seeing them change the landscape into something magical, but they aren’t where things ignite for me each year.
No. It is with a little spot of capitalism: the Eat’n Park “Christmas Star” commercial.
If you live here, you understand. If you are new, allow me to explain. In 1982, our holiday world changed when a regional restaurant chain shared an animated seasonal commercial.
A little white star tries to fly up to the top of a small pine tree. It fails, several times, and lies panting in the snow. The tree then bends over, raising the star up high, where it glows gold, sending out a shower of lights. The pine becomes a Christmas tree as you hear, “We hope the special lift you get this season lasts all year long.”
It’s a beloved touchstone of yinzer holidays. I see it, and I’m immediately back in elementary school, watching it for the first time in the gleam of our own tree. It remains untouched by computer-generated imagery. It has not been improved by artificial intelligence. The animation is slightly fuzzy, like a childhood memory.
The nostalgia would be enough. It doesn’t stop there, though. Every time, I am struck by the message.
The commercial speaks of the effort of the star to do something important. It shows the helping actions of the tree. But to me, the most important part is how the two come together to make something more fantastic than they were on their own.
It’s a subtle, beautiful reminder that every time we extend a hand to help someone, it does not deplete us. In helping someone climb, we become better versions of ourselves. Could there be a better message at this time of year?
When I look back at other cherished holiday specials or movies, they sometimes suffer in comparison to what is remembered. As a parent, I’ve watched “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” in horror, taking in the way the little buck is treated by adults who should have been in his corner. You should be ashamed, Santa.
But this 30-second commercial is the rarest of snowflakes — a time capsule of unproblematic purity.
The Christmas Star has spent 43 years giving me a special lift and lighting up my season. I hope that’s a message and a feeling I can share.
