I am Great with Kids

Last night I went over to my middle daughter’s house for dinner. We’ve turned that into a Christmas tradition over the last few years. It’s one of those simple things that I really look forward to—good food, good company, and being together with the people who make life worth living.

Each year I ask the same question:

“Have the kids watched It’s a Wonderful Life yet?”

And each year I get the same answer:
“No, Beebop… not yet.”

They’re ten and thirteen, great kids, smart, active, full of their own interests. But let’s be honest—when you’re that age, a black-and-white movie from the 1940s does not exactly scream excitement. So I get it.

But this year, I said, “Let’s put it on. I’ll watch it with them.”

Now, anyone who knows this movie understands:
there’s a lot there that isn’t obvious if you didn’t grow up around people who lived that life.

The backdrop is history:

• The Great Depression
• The stock market crash that wiped families out overnight
• World War II and the sacrifices every home made
• Small-town America where everyone really did know everyone
• A time when a pharmacist knew your name, and kids delivered medicine on bikes
• A world where you worked young, you respected elders, and consequences were real
• And of course… Mr. Potter, the original “control everything” villain

No phones. No social media.
Just people trying to survive and still do right by each other.

So as the movie played, I became the narrator.

I explained why George Bailey mattered to that town.
Why a simple Building & Loan kept families from being crushed by Potter.
Why a man giving up his own dreams to help others is the opposite of failure.

I paused and painted the picture behind each moment:

“This is what was happening in America then.”
“This is why that decision was so big.”
“That right there—that’s character.”

And before long… they were leaning forward.
Eyes wide. Questions flying.
Completely drawn in.

When George stood on that snowy bridge… they felt it.
When Clarence earned his wings… they understood it.
When the whole town poured into that living room… they smiled with the rest of us.

And I sat there thinking:

Traditions don’t just survive.
We hand them down — one explanation, one story, one night at a time.

Maybe one day, when they’re older, they’ll remember this Christmas when their Beebop sat with them and opened the door to a movie that still says something true:

That every one of us touches lives we don’t even realize.
That a single person’s kindness can hold a whole community together.
That life is truly wonderful when we recognize the blessings right in front of us.

Last night, there were no sleigh bells or reindeer…
but there was love, family, and a moment that mattered.

And that, to me, is the greatest Christmas tradition of all.