Most children who grow up in Montevideo, Uruguay, like I did, have very little context for reindeers, snowflakes, Christmas trees by the fireplace, or even Santa Claus. South American summers can be extremely humid and hot. Also, the mystical gift bearers are traditionally “Los Tres Reyes Magos,” or the Magi. As small children, my sister and I waited expectantly every January 6th for the Three Kings to show up bearing gifts. We laid out water and grass for their tired camels.
It wasn’t customary to make a list or check it twice. The magic of expectancy was about being surprised and awed. Will it be a bicycle, a doll house, or a soccer ball? When I was around 6 or 7 years old, I received the unexpected during the January 6th holiday: A unique and perfectly crafted, wooden, toy truck. Every single part of the truck had been made by hand including headlights, a door that opened and closed with a tiny hinge, bumpers, and, a retractable roof. It still smelled like lacquer, a smell that would only become familiar to me many years later when I took Woodshop in Middle School. I loved that truck and still own it today. I played with it for many years and was careful with its wooden wheels.
You see, this wooden truck was no regular toy. About six years later, now living in the excess and abundance of the United States, my father revealed to me that the wooden truck was actually made entirely by his very own hands. He said, “We were a little short on money that year, so I made you that toy truck.” I remember the awkwardness of my teary-eyed 13-year-old self, not knowing if I should act tough in front of my dad or let all my feelings out, along with the emotion of being a stranger in a strange land.
The story of Jesus’ birth, as narrated in Matthew 2, has a “before” and an “after,” in my view. The “before” involved the hidden birth of a baby in a humble manger to frightened new parents, far away from home. The “after” is the glorious, majestic, and hopeful journey that led to the visit from the Magi as they followed the shining North Star. It wasn’t significant just because they brought gifts, but because, “When they saw the star, they were overjoyed,” and when they arrived, “they bowed down and worshiped him” (Matthew 2:10-11).
When I think of the holiday season, I think of my childhood, the precious gift of family, and the hope that a shiny North Star can put things in perspective. My father passed away two holiday seasons ago. Before that, he had two debilitating strokes which took away his ability to speak. But I still heard his voice in my mind teaching me to be a better man.
Why did he wait until I was a teenager to tell me the truth about my favorite childhood toy? Maybe it was to demonstrate that there is a “before” and “after.” “Before,” we may just see immigrant children in cages. “After,” we can tell that they’re dreamers, seeking a new life. “Before,” we may feel just feel lost and stuck in a strange land. “After,” we become dreamers, visionaries, seeking a North Star moment that will lead us to the Savior, the Messiah, a Stranger in a strange land, whose earthly father was a modest carpenter.
Fabian Carballo is an American Government and Politics teacher. He lives in Riverside and is married to Wendy, whom he met at LSU while they were both students here. His biggest challenge is to be a good father to his daughter Amelie, 16, and his son Lucas, 14.