Have You Seen?! The Movie Podcast

A Voice on Christmas Eve

• Season 1

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This Christmas Eve, we’re sharing something truly special, a family treasure, brought back to life for one more holiday night.

Growing up, our Christmas Eve wasn’t complete without one familiar tradition: gathering together to hear a beloved voice read “’Twas the Night Before Christmas.” It was simple, it was small, but it meant everything. Somehow, when he read it, the world felt warmer. Safer. More magical.

Tonight, that tradition returns.

In the first half of this special episode, Dylan shares a short story reflecting on memory, family, and the quiet magic of Christmas
 And in the second half, you’ll hear an irreplaceable gift: an original recording of his grandfather reading ’Twas the Night Before Christmas

A voice that carries us home again.

Whether you’re wrapping presents, sitting by the glow of your tree, driving through snowy streets, or celebrating with the people you love — we hope this brings you a little peace, a little joy, and a little Christmas magic.

Merry Christmas…
 and may you never be too old to search the skies on Christmas Eve. 🎄✨

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Dylan:

Every family has their traditions. Some are loud, the kind that fill a whole house with laughter. Some are quiet, the kind you only feel when the world outside grows still. And then there are other traditions that span generations, the ones carried in voices, in memories, and in moments you look back on and realize, this is what mattered. In our family, one of those traditions was hearing my grandfather read Twas the Night Before Christmas. He read it to my mom and her siblings when they were little, every single Christmas Eve. And even when they grew up, moved to different states, he'd still call them just so they could hear him read it again. Because for him, that poem wasn't just a story, it was part of Christmas. When the grandkids came along, he read it to us too for several years. We all grew up knowing the sound of his voice wrapped around those familiar lines. It was one of his favorite things to do at Christmas, and we felt that love every time he read it. You know, there's something in one of my favorite Christmas movies that always reminded me of that. At its heart, that movie is about being carried back to something precious, a feeling, a memory, a piece of yourself that you didn't even realize had drifted away. That's what hearing my grandfather's voice does for me. It's like the train in that story doesn't just take you to the North Pole, it brings you home. Home to the warmth of childhood Christmases, to the people who shaped us, to the traditions that still matter. Time moves on, people grow, families scatter, and the holidays change. But voices, voices can carry us back across decades like snow drifting on a quiet December night. This year, I wanted to do something in remembrance of him. Something for all of us who knew him, loved him, and still fill that quiet space where he should be. And something for anyone listening tonight who is missing someone of their own. Because traditions don't end when someone is gone, not when they live on in us. So tonight, wherever you're listening, whether you're wrapping presents, sitting by the tree, or gathered with your own family, I invite you to share in a tradition that has been part of ours for decades. This is my grandfather reading the night before Christmas, a voice from years ago gifted back to us on this Christmas Eve. May it bring you warmth and make you smile, and may it remind you that you're never too old to believe in a little magic, and never too far from the ones that we miss. Merry Christmas, everyone. And to my family, this one's for you.

Bob:

The night before Christmas, as told by Papa. Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care in hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there. The children were all nestled, all snug in their beds, visions of sugar plums danced in their heads, and Mima and her coach, and I and my cap had just settled down for a long winter's nap. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutter and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of New Fall's toe gave a lustre of midday to objects below, when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh and a tiny reindeer. With a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick. More rapid than Niggles his course they came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name. Now dasher, now dancer, now prancer and vixen, on common on cubin, on Donna and Blitzen, to the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, and now dash away, dash away, dash away all. As leaves before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet and knock school, mount to the sky, so up to the house top the course they flew with a sleigh full of toys ain't Saint Nicholas too, and then in a twinkling I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head and was turning around, down the Jimley Saint Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, and the clothes were all covered with ashes and soot. A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, and he looked like a pedler just soaping in his pack. His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples how merry, his cheeks were red like roses, his nose like a cherry. His drood little mouth was drawn up like a bow and a beard on his chin was as white as a snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke had encircled his head like a reef. He had a broad little face and a round little belly that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jollyful elf, and I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself. A twink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word but went straight to his work, and filled all the stockings and turned with a jerk, and laying his finger aside of his nose and giving a nod up the chimney he rose. He sprang from his sleigh. To his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim as he rode out of sight, Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

Dylan:

Thank you for sharing this moment with me and with my family. For decades my grandfather read this story to his children and then to all of his grandkids. In living rooms, over long-distance phone calls, eventually through the CD he made so that this tradition would outlive him. Hearing his voice again tonight is a reminder that the love we give during our lifetime echoes far beyond it. And even if you're listening and missing someone of your own this Christmas, I hope this brought you a bit of peace. A reminder that traditions, memories, and the people who shaped us have a way of staying close, especially on nights like this. May your home be warm, may your heart be light, and may the magic and comfort of Christmas reach you wherever you are, even in the quiet places where we feel the ones we miss the most. May you never be too old to search the skies on Christmas Eve, and Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.