Holidays carry a certain mystical quality as a child. You may not understand their meanings, but the rituals have a magnetic pull nonetheless. Among the most sacred rituals of my childhood were the “Peanuts” holiday specials. With 46 television specials to his name, Charlie Brown was an ever-present fixture in the Matousek household. Christmas, Halloween, Valentine’s Day, you name it—everyone’s favorite, clinically depressed adolescent was there.

But in recent years, I’ve wondered: do they hold up? Is the deep-seated emotional attachment I’ve formed with Charles Schulz’s world a product of nostalgia, or is there truly something special about this touchstone of American culture? With Thanksgiving fast approaching, now is as good a time as ever to revisit “A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.”

It begins with one of the series’ recurring existential jokes: Charlie Brown’s quixotic quest to finally kick that football. As always, he’s wary of being fooled for the umpteenth time. But Lucy insists the Thanksgiving kickoff is a time-honored tradition she would never violate. She does, of course, and Charlie Brown is left on the ground, his perpetual pessimism once again confirmed. It’s the type of joke children’s entertainment rarely attempts, one rooted in a cynicism that nonetheless can laugh at life’s misfortunes.

These kinds of off-kilter comedic inclinations not only keep the “Peanuts” cartoons from growing stale but allow them to thrive in the 21st century. Schulz isn’t afraid to let the air out of his punch lines, giving the special an almost meditative rhythm that’s positively shocking when compared to the screeching hysterics of the soul-deadening garbage that passes for entertainment on the Disney Channel.

The second scene is an excellent example of Schulz’s tendency to imbue exposition with heavy doses of despair. As Charlie, Sally and Linus discuss their disillusionment with the holidays (“Holidays always depress me,” Charlie fittingly reveals), they sound like world-weary adults, tragically void of any last remnants of childlike innocence. It’s darkly funny in ways most children’s entertainment won’t approach these days. Schulz always treated his audience like adults, and it’s this trust that makes “Peanuts” cartoons highly enjoyable long past childhood.

But “Peanuts” cartoons are more than vehicles for indoctrinating children with a healthy sense of skepticism. They have real, beating hearts that reveal the humanity beneath their cloudy exteriors. The primary conflict in “A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving” comes when Peppermint Patty invites herself, Marcie and Franklin over to Charlie Brown’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. Rather than turn them down, Charlie enlists Snoopy and Woodstock to concoct a modest replacement for a typical Thanksgiving spread. The end result—buttered toast, pretzel sticks, popcorn and jelly beans—sounds rather unappetizing but symbolizes more than just culinary incompetence.

Charlie Brown may be a perpetual bummer, but he understands the value of friendship, and the meal he and his friends share is unabashedly heartwarming. The boys pull chairs out for the girls, they pray before eating and, in short, they embody the spirit of Thanksgiving in ways most of us wish we could emulate.

Backed by Vince Guaraldi’s charming smooth-jazz soundtrack, “A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving” is endearingly small-scale. It achieves its modest goals with that trademark Peanuts elegance, providing us with family entertainment even 40 years later. If you’re worried that it’ll lose its luster when removed from the nostalgic haze of childhood, rest assured. “A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving” remains as vital as ever, a sure bet to bring families together this Thanksgiving.