Don't come to me and smile and then stab me behind my back.

Hear now the stern words of Larry Johnson, who declared: “Don’t come to me and smile and then stab me behind my back.” This saying is sharp as a blade, not clothed in riddles but clear as thunder. It speaks of the oldest of betrayals, the hypocrisy of false friendship, the treachery of the hidden dagger masked by a friendly grin. In every age, men and women have suffered this wound—the smile of the traitor, the kindness of the deceiver, the handclasp that hides a blade.

The meaning is simple yet heavy: beware the smile that carries no truth. For there are those who approach with sweet words and gentle faces, but in their hearts burns envy, greed, or resentment. Their loyalty is a mask, their kindness a veil, their intent a poison. To such as these, Johnson speaks—not in jest, but in warning: Be true, or stay away. For better is open conflict than secret betrayal. The enemy who faces you with sword drawn is less dangerous than the ally who feigns love and pierces you in silence.

History is full of such lessons. Recall Julius Caesar, mighty conqueror of Rome, who was struck down not by foreign foes but by his own councilors, men who had once called him friend. Among them was Brutus, whom Caesar loved as a son. The wound of the blade was deep, but the wound of betrayal was deeper still. The cry “Et tu, Brute?” has echoed across centuries as a reminder: the smile of the traitor is more deadly than the sword of the foe.

Yet betrayal is not only for kings and generals. In every life it appears. A trusted friend who spreads whispers, a colleague who feigns support but schemes for your fall, a companion who laughs with you yet scorns you in secret. These are the daggers in the modern age, and they cut just as deep as steel. Johnson’s words are a shield against such duplicity, a demand for honesty: if you cannot be true, do not pretend to be loyal.

But the saying also carries a call to self-examination. Do not merely look outward, fearing the daggers of others; look inward, lest you too become the betrayer. Ask yourself: do my smiles carry truth, or do they mask resentment? Do I honor those I call friend, even when they are not present? The ancients taught that integrity is not what you show in public, but what you keep in secret. To betray another is not only to wound them—it is to poison your own soul.

The lesson, then, is clear: guard yourself from the false smile, but also be vigilant that your own countenance is true. Cherish honesty as a treasure, and do not cloak hatred in friendship. Better to speak a hard truth than to whisper a soft lie. For relationships built on sincerity will endure, but those built on deception are destined for ruin.

Therefore, my children, practice this in your daily walk: let your words align with your heart. If you cannot honor a man, do not pretend to. If conflict arises, face it openly, without poison in the shadows. And when you give your smile, let it be genuine, a reflection of loyalty and truth. For the world has seen enough daggers hidden behind backs; what it needs are men and women whose faces, words, and hearts are one.