By Robert Scucci
| Updated
I’m not a religious person, but I consider myself blessed to have grown up in real time as The Simpsons was airing its Golden Era. It was that magical time in my life when the show was still appointment viewing, and Sunday night meant it was time for a new episode. It was my favorite part of the week by a long shot.
My love of The Simpsons translated well into adulthood, where I’d get invited to social occasions and suss out the people I’d actually want to hang out with by saying things like “Dental plan!,” or “Are you saying ‘Boo’ or ‘Boo-urns’?” and waiting for the appropriate response.
It’s a perfectly cromulent way to make friends that will embiggen even the smallest of men.
By the time The Simpsons hit Season 12, it was no longer appointment viewing for me, and until Disney+ came along, I was relegated to watching the DVDs I’d accumulated over the years, all of them from Season 10 or earlier. Suddenly, I could fire up every single episode with the click of a button, and it dawned on me that I could watch some of my favorite episodes with my kids.
Now that my son and daughter are 5 and 7 years old, respectively, I’m reveling in the fact that I can corrupt their blank slates with some of my favorite episodes. What I didn’t expect was for my daughter to barrel into the later seasons and actually pick out some certified bangers that are now in my regular rotation, even though I’m still a purist who barely dares venture past Season 10.
The moral of the story? If you grew up during the Golden Era and have kids of your own now, Simpsons night should be mandatory.
Transcends Generations
As somebody who chose to die on the “Simpsons haven’t been good since the ’90s” hill, one thing I really admire about the Golden Era is that it became the perfect time capsule. Everything about The Simpsons during that stretch is so undeniably ’90s that you can’t ignore it. I’m pretty sure my kids learned what a payphone was by watching The Simpsons with me.
But it’s not just about educating your kids on what a great animated sitcom looks like. Episodes like Season 7’s “Summer of 4 Ft. 2.” land especially well with my daughter, who’s about Lisa’s age and navigating some of her first friendships at school. My son, who’s so into dinosaurs that he has a Jurassic Park-themed bedroom, loves “Treehouse of Horror XXIX” for its third segment, “Geriatric Park,” which revolves around Grandpa Simpson turning into a Grampasaurus.
Ironically enough, it’s one of my favorite modern Halloween specials in the entire series, and I have my kids to thank for that.
Now that the kids are older, and they actually let me choose the episodes with a little more authority, I’ve been shoving them headfirst into the Golden Era because I want them to grow up to be superior human beings.
Here’s how it’s working out for me.
The last time we went to the zoo, my daughter said, “Remember, we’re in the Itchy lot!” when we parked the car, and nobody batted an eyelash because even my wife, who’s a casual Simpsons fan at best, knew it was an “Itchy & Scratchy Land” reference.
The last time I cooked burgers at home, my son started ranting about the Northern Lights being localized entirely in my kitchen. He couldn’t quite enunciate “Aurora Borealis,” but credit where it’s due.
Those little moments are honestly my favorite part. Half the fun of introducing my kids to The Simpsons isn’t watching the episodes. It’s hearing those jokes come back days or weeks later in completely unrelated situations, knowing they landed the same way they did when I was their age.
Let Them Get On Your Level Sometimes, They’ll Surprise You
I’m beyond guilty of showing my kids The Simpsons, South Park, Futurama, and Rocko’s Modern Life. Obviously, I’m not showing them the extremely risqué episodes, and they’re not watching unsupervised, but if you show your kids something that’s even remotely adult adjacent while you’re just vegging out around the house, they’re surprisingly receptive to shows that aren’t Bluey or Paw Patrol.
But the real party starts when I barge into their rooms at midnight on a Friday yelling, “Kids, I don’t want to alarm you, but there may be a boogeyman, or boogeymen, in the house!”
I, of course, follow this upsetting, Jerkass Homer, statement with, “Just kidding, we’re watching The Simpsons,” and then we all pick an episode and let it rip on the projector we have set up in the apartment.
Sidebar: if you want your kids to not watch TV during the day, get a cheap projector, because you physically can’t use it when the sun is pouring into the room.
We’re able to bond over one of my favorite shows, but for different reasons. I love the scathing satire of yesteryear, while the kids are mostly into slapstick humor. It feels like a full-circle experience because when I was their age, I valued the show for the exact same reasons they value it today. When a joke flies over their heads, I get to offer sage-like advice like, “You’ll understand when you’re older,” knowing full well I used to hear the same thing.
One day, they’ll probably outgrow our midnight Simpsons binges. They’ll have their own friends, their own hobbies, and eventually they’ll think hanging out with Dad isn’t nearly as exciting as it is now. That’s just part of growing up. But for the moment, I get to share something that meant the world to me with two little people who are discovering it for the first time, and that’s a pretty incredible feeling.
At my house, Simpsons night has become a staple. It starts with doors getting kicked open in the middle of the night and ends with everybody quoting along in real time before I tell them to promise me they’ll let Mom and Dad sleep in because they got to stay up way past their bedtime.
Ninety-nine percent of the time, it never works.
