No, I got a GED in my 30s. My kids know that I never stop

The words of Michael J. Fox—“No, I got a GED in my 30s. My kids know that I never stop learning, and they know I love reading. I have books overflowing everywhere. I am current on today's events and I read the paper every day, and we talk about it, so they see that appetite.”—shine with the quiet brilliance of humility and perseverance. In them lies a truth older than stone, yet ever new: that learning is not confined to youth, nor sealed by a diploma, but is a lifelong pilgrimage of the mind and heart. Fox’s statement, delivered without pride or apology, carries the strength of one who understands that education is not a possession—it is a pathway of growth that continues until the final breath.

Michael J. Fox, known to the world as an actor and advocate, speaks here not as a celebrity, but as a man who treasures wisdom more than accolades. His journey was marked not by the straight road of formal schooling, but by the winding road of experience, curiosity, and resilience. To earn his GED in his thirties was not an act of regret—it was an act of renewal, a declaration that it is never too late to seek understanding. In a society that worships titles and degrees, his words are revolutionary in their simplicity: true intelligence is not bestowed by institutions, but kindled by hunger—the hunger to know, to question, to grow.

This hunger—the “appetite” Fox speaks of—is the same fire that moved the great thinkers of every age. The philosopher Socrates, who claimed to know nothing, became the father of Western wisdom precisely because he never stopped asking questions. Leonardo da Vinci, though denied formal schooling, filled his notebooks with sketches, inventions, and reflections that continue to awe the world. And Abraham Lincoln, self-taught by candlelight, rose from a log cabin to the highest seat of leadership, guided not by privilege but by the discipline of the self-taught mind. Like them, Fox’s overflowing shelves of books are not ornaments of vanity—they are symbols of devotion, altars to the spirit of inquiry.

When he says that his children “see that appetite,” he reveals another layer of wisdom: that learning is contagious. The greatest inheritance a parent can give is not wealth, but curiosity. A house filled with books is a house filled with light; and a parent who reads teaches not by lecture, but by example. Fox’s children learn not from his words alone, but from his living demonstration that education is a way of being, not a stage of life. In this, his home becomes a microcosm of civilization itself—a place where ideas are shared, debated, and reborn in every generation.

There is also deep humility in his tone. He does not boast of achievements, but of engagement—of reading the news, discussing ideas, staying awake to the pulse of the world. This humility reflects a profound truth: that wisdom is not found in isolation, but in connection. The one who reads the world daily, who listens and reflects, becomes a participant in humanity’s great conversation. In this sense, Fox’s “overflowing books” and daily reading are not acts of habit, but of reverence—reverence for the world’s ongoing story and for his place within it.

The lesson of his quote reaches beyond the household and into the soul of every listener: never let the mind grow idle. Age is not a barrier to learning, but an invitation to deepen it. Life itself is the greatest university, and every sunrise brings a new lesson to those with open eyes. In a time when distractions abound and attention falters, Fox’s example is a call to discipline—to choose the page over the screen, the question over the assumption, the conversation over the silence.

His message burns with timeless power: that the educated heart is not defined by credentials, but by curiosity; not by grades, but by gratitude for the chance to learn. In this, he stands among the ancient seekers—the poets, the prophets, the philosophers—who understood that knowledge is not an end but a journey. And so, let his words echo as a teaching for all who wish to live wisely: fill your home with books, your mind with questions, and your days with wonder. Read not to seem learned, but to become alive. For the one who never stops learning never stops growing—and the one who keeps growing never truly grows old.