The Nosy Little Star

Daddy John Stories

The Nosy Little Star


from Bedtime Stories by Daddy John (Fussner)

(collected by his daughter, Mary Garrett)

Photo is author’s great-grandchildren Moriah, Nicolas, Robin, Christopher (John) and Stephen in front of the fireplace Robin and Moriah drew for their daddy.

Once upon a long, long time ago, there was a bright little star.  He lived way, way up in the sky, high above the church steeple.  Little Star was not only bright, he was also a nosey little star, and whenever he noticed anything at all that was strange, he just had to get closer to have a look.

One night he almost bumped into the moon trying to get a better look at the mountains.  Boy, oh boy did the man in the moon tell him off!  A few nights later, Little Star wanted to see what was in the big dipper and almost fell in.  Soon after that, he got lost in the Milky Way and was a week getting out.

No, he wasn’t a mean little star; he was just a nosey little star.

One night, long about the middle of winter, he noticed something different about the earth.  Wondering what it was, Little Star moved closer and closer until at last he was sitting on a telephone pole up at the corner.

He looked up and down both streets and saw lots and lots of pretty lights on the houses, on the trees in the yards, and believe it or not, he saw trees inside the houses.  All of the trees were pretty and covered with colored lights, but the ones inside the houses were prettier than all the rest.

Little Star sat there on the telephone pole, looking and looking.  Suddenly he heard something way up in the sky.  Looking up, he saw a fat little man dressed in a red suit, riding in a sled pulled by eight little reindeer with bells on their harnesses.  Who do you think it was?

The sled came closer and closer, and lower and lower until it stopped on the roof of a house not too far from where Little Star was sitting.  The little man, whom we call Santa, got out of his sled and put his pack on his back.  “Zoom!” down the chimney he went.

Little Star could tell something was going on around the pretty little tree inside the house.  He was much too far away to see what; so he moved closer, first to a tree out front, then to the porch, a short hop to the window sill, and there he was.

Santa was very busy putting gifts around the Christmas tree, toys for the children, and pretty packages for all.  Suddenly he noticed the light from the star.  Looking up, he saw the little star.  Santa quickly opened the door, went out, picked up Little Star, and looked him over.  Going back inside, he put Little Star under the Christmas tree.  He had already put a nice little angel on the top.

“Now,” said Santa, “you look really nice sitting there, and you will be really close; so you can see everything that happens in the morning.  You be sure and watch the little ones.  Tomorrow is their day.”

With that, Santa turned to leave, saying as he did so, “You would look much prettier if you would turn around and around while sitting there.”  Zoom, he was gone.

One thing Little Star didn’t know, which way was he to turn, clockwise or counter-clockwise?   Oh well, he was a star with eight points; so he made four go one way and four go the other way.

All of you know about the happy children he will see on Christmas morning.  Who knows?  Maybe he will be under your tree.


3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Mary Grace Ketner
    May 17, 2012 @ 07:56:59

    Mary! These are such wonderful, happy little stories! So glad you are saving them. I think our family may have “Daddy John” and “Dough Doughy” tles, too, if I would just look for them–and write them down! Clear and deceptively simple, your stories are inspiring!


    • storytellermary
      Dec 29, 2012 @ 13:05:31

      Thanks! I just saw this, and I was just thinking of the star, too. Modern word processing and Office Depot makes it pretty easy to compile stories into little books . . . Chuck Larkin helped me with my first ones.


  2. storytellermary
    May 17, 2012 @ 09:54:49

    Thanks, Mary Grace. We were so fortunate that Dad wrote down his stories (and sent me to typing class so I could type them out “for practice”).


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