I'm a good son, a good father, a good husband - I've been married

Hear, O seekers of truth, the words of Samuel L. Jackson, who declared with strength and humility: “I’m a good son, a good father, a good husband—I’ve been married to the same woman for 30 years. I’m a good friend. I finished college, I have my education, I donate money anonymously. So when people criticize the kind of characters that I play on screen, I go, ‘You know, that’s part of history.’” In these words, he speaks not merely of his own life, but of the eternal balance between the masks we wear in public and the truths we live in private.

For what is a man’s worth? Is it only what the world sees in his work, or is it the sum of his hidden deeds, his faithfulness, his devotion to those entrusted to him? Jackson proclaims boldly that his character is not confined to the roles he embodies on screen, but is revealed in the enduring bonds of love, loyalty, friendship, and generosity. The actor may embody villains, scoundrels, and flawed men—but the man himself is measured by the quiet virtues of his life.

This is a truth as old as the ancients. Consider the tale of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor and Stoic philosopher. Though he ruled armies and passed judgment, though statues portrayed him as a conqueror, his true greatness was not in the images cast of him but in the life he lived—in his devotion to family, in his writings of wisdom, in his striving for virtue amidst power. So too with Jackson: the roles on the stage are part of a greater story, but the life lived off stage is the true measure of the soul.

Notice, too, the power of his claim to education. He declares, “I finished college, I have my education,” as if to remind us that behind the voice, the style, the performances, there is also discipline, perseverance, and the foundation of learning. His life shows that education is not always worn as a badge for others to see, but as an anchor within, guiding choices, shaping character, and providing strength against criticism.

The humility of anonymous giving is also revealed in his words. For what is charity if it is done only for praise? Jackson confesses that he gives in secret, unseen, unheard, a quiet act of justice that requires no applause. This reveals a deeper truth: greatness is not always in what is displayed to the crowd, but in what is done for others when no one is watching. His life reminds us that the unseen deeds may matter more than the seen ones.

And what of his remark, “That’s part of history”? Here he places his art in its rightful place. The roles he plays are reflections of times, struggles, and narratives larger than himself. The character may be dark, but it is a fragment of humanity, a mirror held to society. He accepts the burden of embodying these roles not as a reflection of his soul, but as a contribution to the greater story of culture and history. It is wisdom to separate who we are from what we do, to know that the work of the stage or the screen is not the totality of one’s identity.

Beware, then, the danger of judgment without knowledge. Too many look upon the mask and mistake it for the man. But Jackson’s words instruct us: measure a soul not by the roles they play, nor by the work that fate assigns, but by the steadfastness of their love, the faithfulness of their commitments, and the quiet justice of their deeds. True worth is found not in image, but in integrity.

Therefore, O children of tomorrow, take this lesson: live so that your true self cannot be mistaken for the mask you wear. Be faithful in your family, loyal in your friendships, diligent in your education, generous in your giving. Let your work be part of history, but let your life be part of eternity. For in the end, the stage fades, the screen grows dark, but the legacy of love, virtue, and kindness shines forever.