Growing up, my grandpa was always looking at the sky. Astronomy was his passion, and he shared his love and knowledge with his wife, children, grandchildren, even neighbors out for an evening walk. After dinners spent at his and my grandma’s house, Grandpa would set his telescope up on the front lawn and spend hours gazing at the sky, calling out to any passerby walking along the sidewalk, “Want to see Jupiter? Look, come see the Big Dipper!” His enthusiasm for all things cosmic, usually consisting of several adjustments of his telescope and twenty-minute explanations of each planet’s composition, could get a bit long and boring for a child. I remember, as a young girl, being impatient and impolite, having no diligence for astronomy. I couldn’t see it, so why did it matter? But now I regret my past attitude and haste. My grandpa held so much knowledge of everything in the sky, and I lament for the days when Grandpa would sit for hours under the endless night sky, his head overflowing with knowledge, his heart bursting with passion, his eyes towards the stars.