I was in 10th grade in the show The Little Foxes, playing a 50-year-old guy at age 16, when the thrill first hit me. After my performance, I got a standing ovation. It wasn’t just “I love this.” You learn to love the kiss of their eyes, and it was a window onto my future.

After 35 years embodying Frasier Crane, he’s as alive to me as life itself. Day to day, year to year, we’ve walked the same streets together, although we’re very different. Frasier’s the fastidious, neurotic Felix Unger to my Oscar Madison. But I adore how he’s in it with his whole heart.

If this stage was a chapter in a novel, I’d call it “Rejuvenation.” There are more opportunities for me to be delighted than ever before. My seven children range from age 40 down to 7. With my oldest daughters especially, I missed occasions and wasn’t as present as I should have been. Now we’re reconnecting, healing. The new batch is a total do-over. We’re like a pack. The three youngest still sleep in our room, and around 3 a.m. this morning, James, the 7-year-old, rolled over with a little kick, and I thought, This is the best thing that ever happened to me.

I’m OK with money, but I did get divorced a few times. I pay those debts because, honestly, even if it was twice as much, it would still be cheap. I’m alive and happy, right?

In 2025, it will be 50 years since my sister was murdered when she was almost 19. I had stowed away some of that pain, but two years ago I got a sort of message from her when I started to write a book about the loss, which bubbled up emotions and a sense of faith I had locked away. This voice came that said, “I’ve always been there.” Since then, all the good things I had with my sister are more in focus than the bad.

Cancel culture is ridiculous. It’s about giving a platform for hatred—singling people out to take them down. I think we can all do better toward one another. We focus so much on differences in this country—red state, blue state; conservative, liberal—but I think we should celebrate how much we all share. Maybe that could move us toward community again, rather than silos. The world my granddad introduced me to—a world of service, a world of kindness—that still holds value.

I’m not sad about getting older. I feel better now than ever, honestly. Sometimes, though, that line comes to me from the poem “To His Coy Mistress”: “At my back I always hear / Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near.” There are things I haven’t quite done yet. I do face that ticking clock. —As told to David Hochman