Friday night is movie night at our house. After the toddler goes to bed, my husband, our 8-year-old, and I settle in for the feature of the week. And lately, given the nature of the season, we’ve watched a lot of Christmas films. We kicked things off with Miracle on 34th Street (1994), followed it up with Elf, and closed out December with Home Alone. And after a while, I started to notice a pattern. In each of these films, overworked, neglectful parents learn, through the spirit of Christmas, to reprioritize family over their careers.
Christmas is full of stories. Dickens' Christmas Carol, It's a Wonderful Life, the Home Alone films, the many legends of Father Christmas. But the Christmas story is a different kind of tale altogether.
When I sit in an armchair on Christmas Eve and spend time with family and friends, I am aware that having found the meaning of Christmas, I need to guard it.