I’m often asked,
“What’s the goal of your podcast, art, and writing?”
Well, I want to get rich
and have millions of followers!
Not really.
It’s much simpler than that.
I share so others, especially my children,
can peek into my life
and see the hard-earned lessons
I’ve picked up along the way.
I believe it’s not just a good idea.
It’s a duty.
A sacred responsibility.
My parents weren’t open people.
For most of my life, I chalked it up to privacy.
Now I think it was something deeper,
shame, fear, and a lack of communication skills.
Like many of us,
they made hard decisions
and lived through painful mistakes.
And despite my love,
despite my curiosity,
they refused to share.
It was like talking to a wall.
They’re a mystery I’ll never solve.
I wonder what wisdom they could’ve passed down
if they had just let their guard down.
The joy.
The pain.
The full spectrum of living.
That’s what I call Generational Intellectual Property:
life lessons, truth,
and experience passed down with intention.
Ours was lost.
Surface stories are all that remain.
Life has always been messy.
It still is.
It always will be.
Let’s have those conversations
about their youth, ignorance, and dreams.
There’s so much to learn
if they’d just open up.
I share for my children,
for their children,
and the ones after that.
I want to be a better ancestor.
I want them to know what I went through.
To understand why I made the choices
that changed our family’s path.
Not so they can idolize me,
but so they can ask better questions.
So they don’t have to guess.
I want them to know
where the good looks and smartass humor came from.
Me. Obviously.
I refuse to be a mystery
in a genealogy database.
I will not be a blank face
in a black-and-white photo.
They’ll know me.
Intimately.
Because I believe this:
a family is only as strong
as the stories they tell about their ancestors.
And this is our story.
This is the Generational IP,
ours to own.
Generational wealth passes down assets.
Generational IP passes down soul and knowledge.
Stories. Art. Media.
It’s emotional equity,
lived wisdom
that enriches a family from the inside out.
Storytelling is ancient.
Essential.
Human.
Before writing,
there were stories.
Around fires.
On cave walls.
Passed from mouth to ear,
heart to heart.
I write, sketch, and podcast
because I want to.
Because I need to.
If I leave behind a body of work,
maybe it’s more than a keepsake.
Maybe it’s an inheritance.
Is it ambitious to think
they might license my stories one day
and make bajillions?
Maybe.
But so what?
When they see my name—Teevee—
they’ll feel the warmth of knowing.
They’ll hear my voice in a podcast.
Trace my sketches with their fingers.
Sit with my words
like they’re sitting next to me.
They won’t just know what I did.
They’ll know who I was.
And maybe, just maybe,
that will help them become
who they are meant to be.
