As I get older, I want to do more films for kids because they're

Hear now, O listener, the heartfelt words of James McAvoy: “As I get older, I want to do more films for kids because they're the best audience around. Just putting a smile on a kid's face is the best thing.” Though born in the world of cinema, this saying carries a truth that transcends the stage and screen: that the greatest work we can do is to uplift the hearts of children, for in their joy lies the hope of the world.

The meaning of his words rests in simplicity, yet simplicity of the most profound kind. McAvoy recognizes that art is not only for the critics, nor merely for the acclaim of adults. To bring laughter, wonder, and joy to a child—to awaken in them delight and imagination—is to plant seeds of hope in soil that will one day shape the future. The smile of a child is not a fleeting pleasure but a reflection of innocence renewed, of trust restored, of joy reborn.

The origin of such wisdom lies deep in the history of storytelling itself. The earliest tales told around the fire were often for the young, to teach them courage, kindness, and the mysteries of the world. Ancient myths, fables, and parables were not idle amusements but guides for children who would inherit the earth. From Aesop’s fables in Greece to the Panchatantra tales of India, storytellers knew that to shape the heart of a child was to shape the destiny of generations. McAvoy’s yearning to create for the young is but a modern echo of this eternal truth.

History itself gives us shining examples. Think of Walt Disney, who during the Great Depression gave children the gift of Mickey Mouse and Snow White. At a time when adults carried despair, children carried laughter into their homes because of those tales, and in their laughter, their parents found strength. Or recall J.K. Rowling, whose Harry Potter books not only made millions of children smile, but also gave them courage to face loneliness, bullying, and fear. In both, we see what McAvoy describes: the “best audience” is not only receptive but transformative—they carry the joy forward, magnifying it into the world.

His words also reveal a shift in perspective with age. In youth, many artists seek prestige, power, or recognition. But as McAvoy reflects, the truest reward lies not in awards, but in the sparkle of a child’s eyes. For what is an Oscar compared to the sound of children laughing together in a theater? What is a critic’s praise compared to a young life inspired to dream greater dreams? This is wisdom that comes only with time: to realize that legacy is not measured in statues, but in the hearts one has touched.

Practically, this teaching calls us to consider the impact of our own actions on the young. We may not all make films, but in every smile we offer, every story we tell, every kindness we give, we shape the world of a child. A gentle word can become a lifelong memory; a shared laugh can guard against despair. If we live with this awareness, we will find countless opportunities each day to create light in the lives of the innocent.

So, O listener, take this lesson to heart: if you would do great deeds, look not only to the mighty, but to the small. Seek not only to impress, but to inspire. For when you put a smile upon a child’s face, you have touched eternity.

Thus the teaching endures: the greatest gift of art, of labor, of life itself, is to leave behind smiles that outlast us, carried forward by those who will build the world of tomorrow.