“I’m a marketing genius.”-Paris Hilton

“I’m a very important genius.”-Donald Trump

“I always wanted what mom and dad had.”-Kim Kardashian

“I have to work really hard to get the record deal.-Taylor Swift

“Modeling is really what I do during my free time. It’s fun for me, so it doesn’t feel like work. I choose to do it.”-Kaia Gerber

“You can fool some of the people all the time, and those are the ones you want to concentrate on.”-George Bush Jr.

Same dynamic, different hashtag. CNN, Vulture, Vox, New York Magazine and of course, the most scientifically researched platform on the planet, TikTok, have all recently been on the #nepobaby bandwagon.

I’m not here to expose them. They’ve been flexing their inherited power since before the birth of Christ…as I write…I mean…hmm. I didn’t say it but, I did think it and so far, no lighting. Maybe he subconsciously inspired generations. Sadly, making blockbusters or starting wars is hardly on par with effecting the salvation of humanity. Maybe that’s why they killed him.

I’m just here to pull the blinds all the way back. Celebrities are only a fraction of the nepotism equation. Since blogs are hardly the place to expound on the history of oppression, I’ll offer you a brief, relatable summary.

Once upon a way, way long time ago, one hunter was better than another hunter at getting food. The good hunter realized this and instead of sharing, he started charging everybody in the tribe for his prime cuts of salmon, beef and dinosaur. Yes, he was the best at killing, and was far from kind.

Back then, we didn’t know about the effects of childhood trauma and this good hunter had plenty of it. He’d witnessed his entire family devoured by a wooly mammoth when he was just a semi-furry little tyke. It broke his previously egalitarian heart. There he was, surrounded by families who had their mums, dads, siblings and pet dragons. He hated the feelings of loneliness and dependence because it reminded him of his hellish grief. So, when he stumbled on this ability that seemingly set him apart from his tribe society, he completely exploited it from the deep gash in his soul; punishing everyone around him out of his completely shame-filled assumption that they were all happier than he’d ever be.

Since money hadn’t been invented yet, he forced the people to pay him in favors, trade and labor. He got free massages, back waxing, dry cleaning, medical care, therapy, entertainment, education, ‘dates’, and, it took at least half the tribe to build him the biggest, most grandiose hut anyone had ever seen. Aside from his hired ‘dates’, cook, cleaner, butler, fire-stoker, bed-maker, bodyguard, doorman and gardener, he lived there all alone.

Eventually, he picked a favorite from one of his ‘dates’, clubbed her over the head and declared her his wife. Since he wasn’t really in love with her, she got lonely and spent hours in the west wing of their ever expanding hut. There, she discovered her talents for designing clothes, shoes, hand bags, skin care, home decor, life coaching and fragrances. Her husband was beyond thrilled that he hadn’t pummeled the profitable artistry out of her. So, after setting up each of the LLC’s in his name for all the products snd services she’d developed, he had sex with her. Then proceeded to totally neglect her in favor of checking the stock market all day, every day while trying not to think about that tragic day so long ago when his heart was tender, open and joyful.

His wife eventually gave birth to his children whom he declared the future CEO’s of his micro-verse. You will oversee empires of greatness! Because I, your father, was the best animal killer this world had ever seen. You shall rule over burger huts, as Kings. You shall act as models and influencers for clothing, skin care, shoes, hand bags, home decor, spiritual retreats and designer fragrances. Anything we place our logos on will be associated with high status. And the people will shave their legs, to sell their hair, to buy our things, to be like us and we will rule!

Ok, some of that isn’t historically accurate, but that’s basically how it all went down. Ever since, the relatives of that family have been running the show in every part of the world. Unless you’re somehow part of their inner circle, maybe you know someone who babysat their kids, had an affair with one of their dads, or like, represented them in a murder trial, you’ll have to actually work and get paid whatever they decide you’re worth. And, unlike them, it probably won’t be some cool job like pop star, model, artist, actor, trustafarian, entrepreneur, writer, spiritual guru, thought leader or president. You’ll have to learn an actual skill, stay good at it and literally never do anything wrong or else you’ll get fired or go to prison. Nepo Babies can’t get fired. The more indiscretions they have, the more money they make cause tabloids turn into award-winning Netflix series. Crazy, right?

In real life, my father is, among many things, a hunter and fisherman. He was supposed to become a musician but I’m sad to report, my arrival during a blizzard not dissimilar to the one blanketing the east coast now, broke up the band. While I accept full responsibility for my life and all its ramifications, I had nothing to do with the street where we lived.

Lincoln Street is a small housing project in Woonsocket Rhode Island that, as my father recently shared with me, was built by Edward Harris, not the actor.

Ed was the son of some folks who owned a farm in Duchess County, New York. I couldn’t find any additional info on his childhood but from the sounds of it, he came from money.

Interestingly, Ed was against slavery and yet, he built a textile mill where many of my extended family worked, and built these projects to house his workers who weren’t paid enough to live in a mansion. Ed, the abolitionist, philanthropist, teacher, politician and temperance supporter, lived in a mansion.

Everything in Woonsocket is named Harris; Harris Library, Street, Pond, School, Park, City Hall. Edward Harris was a generous philanthropist and according to current data, Woonsocket’s poverty rate is 64.06% higher than the national average, leaving me to confirm my convictions that charity is an egoistic delusion born of the shame of nepotism and fear of survival, that only serves to perpetuate intergenerational oppression.

I know who I am, where I come from and that I can do incredibly hard things, like delay gratification for roughly forty years in order to climb out of poverty. But yes, your second nose job was very brave.

My father taught me to hunt, fish, read, think critically, strive for more than survival and sing while I’m doing it. And my mother taught me to pray. I don’t believe those born into privilege have an easier life or are undeserving of compassion. Their challenge is an entirely different and foreign animal to me. I imagine they must feel insecure, isolated and terrified. However, I also don’t believe I should get special treatment just because I’ve lived the majority of my life wearing ugly clothes while doing manual labor.

For the record: I never wanted to plunge your throne and I’m guessing you don’t want all your credibility thrown out the window the second someone finds out your real last name.

The answer is equality. Regardless of who our father is, none of us should have to sell our soul to eat.~

Love your neighbor-Mark 12

God doesn’t have favorites-Romans 2

Make every effort to live in peace- Hebrews 12

We all fall short-Romans 3