Now, in the Liefeld household, I don't tend to share the fact

Rob Liefeld, the creator of many comic legends, once spoke with humility and delight: “Now, in the Liefeld household, I don't tend to share the fact that I created Deadpool with my kids, so when all the video games started coming out where Wade was at the center of them, I couldn't help but smile.” On its surface, this is a father’s quiet amusement, but beneath it lies a teaching as ancient as time: the joy of seeing one’s creation take on a life of its own, and the smile that comes when the world recognizes what you have sown in silence.

The ancients often spoke of the power of creation. To craft something that endures beyond oneself was considered the closest act to divinity. In Greece, the poets were said to touch the eternal when their verses outlived them; in Rome, the builders of roads and arches knew that their works carried their names into centuries unborn. So too, in the modern age, the comic artist who creates a character like Deadpool does not simply sketch lines on paper—he breathes into the world a spirit that travels beyond his household, beyond his lifetime, even beyond his own telling of the tale.

There is also humility hidden in his words. Though Rob Liefeld is the architect of Deadpool, he confesses that within his own household he does not announce this triumph. To his children, he is not the creator of a worldwide phenomenon—he is simply their father. And yet, when he sees Deadpool rise in video games, beloved by millions, he cannot help but smile. This humility echoes the ways of the wise: for the truest creators do not demand recognition at every turn. They know that greatness does not need constant proclamation; it will reveal itself in time.

History provides us with a similar story in the life of Johann Sebastian Bach. Though now revered as one of the greatest composers of all time, during his life he was simply known in his town as a church musician, a father of many children. His works were not widely recognized in his own household or even in his era. Yet centuries later, his music fills cathedrals, concert halls, and the hearts of countless listeners. If Bach could look upon our world today, surely he too would smile, much like Liefeld, at seeing his creation blossom far beyond the boundaries of his time.

This moment also speaks to the mystery of legacy. One does not always know how far the seeds they plant will travel. Liefeld drew a character in the early 1990s, uncertain of what would come of him. Years later, Deadpool is not only in comic books, but in films, merchandise, and games beloved by millions. What greater joy than to see something born of one’s imagination become a part of the world’s imagination? That smile is the recognition that what we create lives beyond us, and in living beyond us, it makes us immortal in some small way.

But the heart of this teaching is not only about creation—it is about the quiet joy of watching others discover it. Liefeld did not force his children to celebrate his accomplishment. Instead, he waited until the world celebrated, and in that celebration, his own joy deepened. The lesson here is that true fulfillment does not come from demanding recognition, but from knowing within oneself that what one has done is good, and watching patiently as the world comes to see it in its own time.

So, my children, let this wisdom be yours: labor not for constant praise, but for the joy of creation itself. Build, write, sing, draw, craft—pour your spirit into what only you can give the world. And when your work one day blooms in ways you never expected, allow yourself to smile as Rob Liefeld did, not with arrogance, but with gratitude. For the greatest reward of the creator is not to boast, but to see their creation walk on its own feet into the hearts of others.

In the end, remember this: the smile of the creator is the mark of fulfillment. It is the silent acknowledgment that something born in solitude has become a gift to the world. This is the legacy of poets, painters, builders, musicians, and yes—even comic artists. And so shall it be with you, if you dare to create.