I was a child actor in 'Deliverance,' but not the banjo player.

The words of Charley Boorman—“I was a child actor in ‘Deliverance,’ but not the banjo player. It was my dad’s big movie as a director, and at the very end there’s a scene where Jon Voight comes home to his wife. I played his young son”—speak not merely of a moment in film, but of heritage, humility, and connection between generations. Though the surface tells a tale of cinema and childhood, beneath it lies a deeper current: the eternal bond between parent and child, between creation and continuation, between the dreams of one generation and the awakening of the next.

Boorman’s words are tender and reflective, carrying the quiet pride of one who was part of something greater than himself. He does not boast of fame or recognition; instead, he honors his father’s craft, acknowledging that his own small role was woven into a larger story. In this, there is a timeless truth: that every life, every act, every gesture—no matter how small—contributes to a grander tapestry. To be a son in his father’s film is to dwell in the shadow of legacy, to witness creation through the eyes of love. It is the beginning of one’s journey toward purpose, shaped by those who came before.

In the ancient way, such a story would have been told by elders around the fire, as a parable of lineage and destiny. The son who learns from the father’s craft becomes the vessel through which wisdom continues. Consider the young Alexander, who watched his father Philip build an empire in Macedon. When Philip fell, Alexander took up the mantle, carrying his father’s vision beyond the known world. So too, Boorman’s childhood moment was not simply an appearance in a film, but a seed—the quiet beginning of his own path through storytelling, travel, and adventure. It reminds us that the roots of greatness are often planted in the soil of another’s dream.

There is also a tone of humility in Boorman’s remembrance. He clarifies that he was “not the banjo player”, as if to set aside false glory and embrace the truth of who he really was. In a world where many seek the spotlight, his words teach us the nobility of being authentic, of honoring our true place in the story rather than pretending to another’s role. This is an act of quiet strength. For as the ancients said, “Know thyself”—to understand one’s part in the great play of life is to find peace and purpose.

In this quote lives a powerful reflection on legacy and artistry. The father creates, the son learns, and the cycle continues. John Boorman, the father, built worlds of story through his camera; Charley, the son, grew to explore the world through journey and adventure. The form changed, but the spirit remained. Such is the law of the generations: the flame is passed, never extinguished. In every craft, in every heart, the lessons of our elders live on, if only we are humble enough to receive them.

Let us, then, draw wisdom from this recollection. Every child is both a continuation and a renewal. Every parent, a teacher and dreamer. When we honor where we came from, we find clarity in where we are going. Whether one’s “father” is of blood or of spirit, we are all heirs to someone’s vision. And like Boorman’s small role at the end of Deliverance, we each stand in a scene written long before us, yet one that prepares us for our own stories to come.

So the teaching is this: cherish your beginnings, however small. Remember the hands that built the path beneath your feet. Do not seek greatness for its own sake, but for the love of the craft, the honor of your lineage, and the joy of creation itself. When you walk your road, do so with gratitude—for even a single step taken in the shadow of your elders may one day lead you to cast a shadow of your own. For legacy is not what you inherit—it is what you carry forward.