Christopher Jackson of ‘Hamilton,’ at Home in the Bronx

“I use it all year long,” he said. “I’ve been known to put on my parka and cook a chicken breast outside in the winter. When spring and summer come, I’m watching the Food Network. I’m all about Bobby Flay.”

Two blocks away is Pelham Bay Park, with a playground for C.J. and Jadelyn and bike paths for Mr. Jackson. On occasion, he’s pedaled to the theater. And after the show, he returns to an enclave where there’s space to breathe.

“If I can live where I can look directly up and see sky, that’s a selling point for me,” he said. And how about that neighbor who taped a poster reading “Way to Go, Chris!” on Mr. Jackson’s garage door the day after “Hamilton” won a Grammy?


Christopher Jackson as George Washington in the musical “Hamilton.”

Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

Ms. Vazquez-Jackson is Bronx born and bred, and her parents are a seven-minute drive away. “As soon as I met that lady there,” he said, “I was like, ‘O.K., let’s go to the Bronx.’

“I can’t imagine our lives without Veronica’s parents, I really can’t. Family is imperative for us,” Mr. Jackson said. “ I’m a bit of an immigrant, since I come from Southern Illinois. So to be pulled in right away with her huge family and extended family gave me a sense of always being at home.”

This particular piece of the Bronx looks like a toy workshop. Jadelyn’s Barbie doll accessories are stashed on the bookshelves in the living room. The spillover lines the floor. C.J.’s Legos — his supply is vast — obscure the top of the dining table, which, when cleared, can comfortably seat eight, but has accommodated 11 or 12 at holiday gatherings.

Paper, colored pencils, crayons and paints are abundant. “We encourage our kids to be as artistic as possible and to explore as much as they can,” said Mr. Jackson, who does his own artistic exploration down the hall in the music studio with the help of nine guitars and a keyboard.

“Luckily, in this age of technology you don’t need as much space as you used to to have a viable recording space,” said Mr. Jackson, who with the composer Bill Sherman won an Emmy in 2011 for a song they wrote for “Sesame Street.” “If I’ve got 15 minutes before I head out, I’ll pick up a guitar and play for a minute. That’s a real comfort.”

He sets similar store by his books. “My Bible I’ve had since I was a teenager,” Mr. Jackson said. “My James Baldwin books — I’m going to read them all again this summer. They mark a time in my life when I completely shifted my thinking on who I am as a black man, as a father, a husband, a person in the public eye.”

A particular treasure is a copy of “Dreams From My Father” by Barack Obama. Mr. Miranda brought it back from the White House, where, in the spring of 2009, he performed a number from an embryonic show about the first secretary of the United States Treasury.

“The president had just been elected, and I really wanted to be at the White House, too, and instead I was on stage doing ‘In the Heights,’ ” Mr. Jackson recalled. “It’s the only time I’ve ever been jealous of Lin Miranda. He walks into my dressing room with the book, and I’m like, ‘Oh, great.’ And he says, ‘Open the book, dummy.’ ”

And there it was, with an all but illegible signature: “To Chris — Dream big dreams! Barack Obama.”

Mr. Jackson just shot a pilot for “Bull,” a TV drama about a jury selection consultancy created by Dr. Phil McGraw, the television personality, and Paul Attanasio, the screenwriter. Decorating has long taken a back seat to career-building and child-rearing, although once in a while something new for his home does cross his mind.

But the chocolate-brown corduroy sectional stays in the picture. “I think the couch is the most important thing here, because everyone falls asleep on it,” Ms. Vazquez-Jackson said.

Everyone, it seems, except Mr. Jackson. “Sleeping is not something I do well,” he said. Unsurprisingly, the Cuisinart coffee maker on the kitchen counter is his very first stop of the day. Mr. Jackson bought a Keurig coffee maker and a supply of its coffee-filled pods for his theater dressing room, believing that “it would solve all my issues,” he said. “But after the first cup, I was like, ‘Can’t do it.’ The idea is fantastic, but you can’t beat a brewed cup of coffee.”

“At some point,” Mr. Jackson added, hoisting a mug, “I’ll get away from it and practice yoga first thing in the morning. But right now, it’s coffee.”

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