When Trivia Becomes Testimony

What Are Our Kids Learning When We’re Not Trying to Teach?

We had a Christmas get-together at work and decided to do Christmas movie trivia.

I sat there with my head down, listening closely, hand hovering over the buzzer like I was listening closely for Santa to come down the chimney in a holiday movie. We were up by a lot when someone on the other team finally said it out loud:

“Well…this is pretty much us versus Maury.”

I’ll admit it. It felt great.

At one point, someone said, “I think they have a ringer.”
We made eye contact. I smiled and raised an eyebrow. Not a smug smile—more of a friendly smirk.
She looked again and asked, “Do they have a ringer?”
I shrugged. She laughed.

I don’t love bragging. Bragging feels obnoxious and mean-spirited. But owning something you’re good at—with a smile and good humor—is just being honest. And when it comes to Christmas trivia…I’m a beast.

My team kept looking at me before answering. If I hadn’t seen the movie, I’d say so. Otherwise, they buzzed in and checked with me like I was the instant replay booth.

There wasn’t even a prize. I honestly don’t care about winning.
But if you’re not trying to win…what are you doing?

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Preparation I Hadn’t Plan For

The first question was about Miracle on 34th Street (1994).

The night before, our family had decided to have a Christmas movie night. Brighton chose Miracle on 34th Street because none of the kids had seen it. I hadn’t watched it since I saw it with my brothers sometime around 1995.

When the question reader said, “In the movie Miracle on 34th Street…,” I laughed out loud.

At the party, someone said, “No! He said he just watched this last night!”

It reminded me how often random moments—family movie nights, casual conversations—turn into examples later. I’m a storyteller. I love pulling something from the past to explain the present or point toward the future.

Sometimes you don’t realize you’re preparing for anything at all. You’re just living.

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Dependable Isn’t a Personality Trait. It’s a Calling.

Another great moment came when Brighton got home from a worship team Christmas party. I heard him yelling for me the second he walked in the door. I came to the top of the stairs and saw him standing there with an Amazon gift card raised in the air, smiling ear to ear.

“Obi-Wan taught me well!” he yelled.

Someone had asked him how he knew so much Christmas music trivia.
His answer?

“My Daddy and I quiz each other all the time.”

That hit me harder than any trivia win ever could.

Being depended on matters to me—not just in games, but in life. As a husband and father, I want my family to know that when things go sideways, Daddy will take care of it.

Karen and I are raising boys and girls, yes—but we’re also raising future men, husbands, and fathers along with future women, wives, and mothers.

Brighton once told me about a moment at school when a teacher defended his viewpoint in a discussion. Later, driving home, just the two of us, he said he was starting to see some things differently. He said the teacher’s words echoed mine.

That’s the goal. Not control. Echo.

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Where the Christmas Knowledge Came From

Growing up, my brothers and I watched Christmas specials constantly. We laid on the floor inches from the console TV, chins in our hands, feet pointing toward the couch behind us.

We paused during commercials to grab snacks or use the bathroom. Someone always yelled, “IT’S BACK ON!” out of pure courtesy.

We didn’t fight. We just were together.

We had VCR tapes of specific specials, recordings we’d saved as they aired. As I got older, I bought the DVDs. Now my kids and I watch them every December.

And yes—we watch Garfield’s Christmas year-round as well on YouTube. Thanksgiving. Halloween. Random Tuesday in April. All of it.

It’s short. It’s funny. It’s about family. And Garfield going back to the farm probably resonates because…I grew up on one.

I know every line. So do the kids.

During movie nights, they slowly creep closer. They lean on me. Sometimes Karen reaches over, picks up my arm, and wraps it around her. After 25 years, it’s still nice to like each other.

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The Mind Palace of Christmas

I’ve always had a good memory. On Sherlock, Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock talks about his “mind palace”—file cabinets you open to retrieve information. I’ve adopted the phrase.

For some reason, the Christmas file never fills up. It’s always open.

Maybe it goes back to childhood. Christmas was my favorite time of year. I love it. I want people to slow down when they drive past our house and look at our decorations. I want them to feel warmth when they walk inside. I want our house to look like it belongs in the Sears Wish Book.

And why wouldn’t I collect the most wonderful time of the year?

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Faith Is Passed the Same Way

Jesus taught in stories. The Gospels are filled with them because people remember stories. They see themselves in them. They relate.

The kids hear Christmas trivia questions in the car the same way they hear sermon conversations after church.

Discipleship doesn’t work if my life doesn’t mirror Christ. Words mean nothing without example.

Deuteronomy says to teach your children “when you walk along the road.”
Let’s be honest—most of our road time happens in cars.

That’s where faith is formed. In conversation. In repetition. In ordinary moments.

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What I Hope They Carry Forward

As the year turns and people start talking about resolutions, I’m more interested in what’s already shaping us when no one’s trying.

I hope my kids remember Christmas traditions.
I hope they love family.
I hope they follow Christ.

I hope Brighton and Grayson become better fathers than I am. I tell Brighton often—take what I did right and improve what I didn’t.

Why would any parent want their kids to be the same or worse?

If I’m known as a Christmas trivia ringer, so be it.

But if the real legacy is faith, presence, and love passed down quietly—
then I’ll gladly keep collecting Christmas data for the rest of my life.