The craft Emmys are kind of the kids' table at Thanksgiving.

Hank Azaria once spoke with a mix of humor and humility: “The craft Emmys are kind of the kids’ table at Thanksgiving. You’re not really invited to the big dance. It’s still really, really exciting, and the statue still counts.” His words, though lighthearted, reveal a deeper truth about recognition, belonging, and the layered ways in which society honors achievement. For what he calls the “kids’ table” is not a place of shame, but of beginnings, of growth, and of overlooked importance. In this comparison, Azaria teaches us that every honor, no matter how humble it seems beside grander prizes, still carries real weight.

The origin of this saying lies in Azaria’s own journey as an actor and voice artist. Though famed for his roles in The Simpsons and beyond, he knew that the spotlight often shines more brightly on performers in front of the camera than on those whose craft supports the greater whole. The craft Emmys—awards for editing, costume design, sound, and other behind-the-scenes labors—are sometimes treated as secondary to the glittering primetime awards. By comparing them to the kids’ table, he both pokes fun at this hierarchy and affirms the worth of the recognition. For whether at the main table or not, the statue still counts—because effort and excellence have been honored.

This truth is as old as humanity itself. In ancient courts, kings were remembered, but it was the unseen scribes who preserved laws, the builders who raised palaces, the artisans who carved statues that gave glory to their rulers. In Rome, the generals paraded through the streets in triumph, yet it was the engineers and laborers who built the aqueducts that made empire possible. Their names were often unspoken, yet their work endured. Azaria’s words shine a light on this eternal pattern: the “kids’ table” of history often holds the quiet architects of greatness.

The metaphor of the kids’ table at Thanksgiving is especially rich. For in many families, children long to graduate from the smaller table to the main one, where the elders sit. Yet the kids’ table is no less joyful; it is filled with laughter, play, and bonds that will one day carry into adulthood. To be there is not to be excluded, but to be growing, to be preparing for the larger place. So too with the craft Emmys—to be honored there is to be acknowledged as part of the feast, even if not yet seated at the grander table. It is a reminder that honor takes many forms, and every form is worthy.

We may recall the story of Nikola Tesla, who lived much of his life in the shadow of Thomas Edison. Edison’s name filled the halls of fame, while Tesla often seemed relegated to the “kids’ table” of invention, recognized by few in his time. Yet the world we live in now—powered by alternating current, wireless signals, and more—reveals that the so-called secondary place held treasures of immense importance. What matters in the end is not the size of the table, but the permanence of the contribution.

The lesson is thus clear: do not despise the kids’ table. Do not measure your worth only by whether you are at the “big dance,” in the brightest spotlight, or in the highest tier of recognition. Instead, embrace every honor, every opportunity, and every moment of acknowledgment, however small it may seem. For the true measure of achievement is not the grandeur of the stage, but the integrity of the work itself. The statue still counts, because it symbolizes labor well done, effort recognized, and contribution made visible.

So, O listener, let this wisdom be a guide: whether you sit at the head table or the humble one, whether your work is hailed in the public square or quietly honored in smaller circles, know that your labor is worthy. Rejoice in every recognition, and give thanks that your craft, your toil, your art has been seen. For the feast of life has many tables, and every seat, if filled with dignity and joy, is a place of honor. And in the end, it is not where you sit that defines you, but the greatness of the work you bring to the banquet.