Nepo Baby
Illustration by Luci Gutiérrez

Hey, guys! There’s been a lot of discussion going on lately and I just wanted to clear the air. I totally understand that people think I got my job because of my dad, but I definitely would have still been the Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ even if my dad wasn’t God. Everyone says I would have been the Son of God even if I weren’t the son of God.

Just because my dad is famous, it doesn’t mean I don’t have merits of my own. I am a very good listener, and nice, and I have a bag that has seven million fish in it. I’m pretty embarrassed by D-d—I don’t even really like telling people my last name. When people find out that my last name is Of Nazareth, it just shuts down any conversation. How do they know it’s the same Of Nazareth? What if my dad was, like, Bill Of Nazareth, just, like, a guy with a truck and a snake? Not everyone in my family is famous. What about my mom? She’s a prude and a nobody! Her last name, Mary, isn’t well known at all! Her last name is Mary and her first name is Virgin.

You have no idea—it actually really sucks to have a famous parent. No one believes that I healed those lepers on my own. But now we’ll never know if I could have cured leprosy without the leg up my dad gave me, which is that I am magic and have the gorgeous hair of a horse you hope breeds with all the other horses. Sure, I got all this myrrh as a kid, but that myrrh lasts you only so long. And then you have to work for your own myrrh. And I worked for every inch of myrrh I ever got. Every cubic centimetre of myrrh. Every cup of it. What is myrrh?

I toiled really hard to get where I am. I went to four years of carpenter school. And, no, I don’t have student loans, because, yes, my dad invented wood, but it was still hard. I have hammered my thumbs so many times. One time, I even drove a nail all the way through my hand. It hurt so bad, and I was, like, I hope that never happens again, but then it did! I totally acknowledge my privilege, but let’s not act like other people don’t have privilege, too. I can turn water into wine, but my buddy Eric can turn water into piss. Why aren’t people obsessed with Eric’s dad?

I started from the bottom—I was born and immediately put in a manger. You’d imagine that soft hay would be in there, but no. Do you know what was in there? Four scorpions. Worse than a normal bed. I don’t even technically have my own birthday! I share it with Santa, which is antisemitic.

I’m a really good sport about things. Every time I walk into a Catholic church, there’s a good chance I’ll see myself on the Cross, being crucified. Obsessed with me much? And everyone is obsessed with drinking my blood and eating my body. It makes me feel faint. We have to talk about something else before I fall off this horse. And, before you comment about my having a fancy horse, just know that a lot of people’s dads make them horses for their sixteenth birthday.

I don’t want anyone to feel too sorry for me, but the nepo-baby thing makes me really insecure. People are just so ready to tear you down and say, “You don’t even deserve to have a really popular book about you.” I struggled with impostor syndrome for so long, but then I was able to cure it, because I can cure any disease, because I am magic, because of my dad.

All I can hope for is that, by keeping my head down and just doing the work, my legacy will finally be separate from D-d’s. At the end of my career as the Lamb of God, no one is going to think about my dad. They’ll just be, like, That’s some guy who is a really hard worker and always has, like, a hundred loaves of bread with him for some reason.

Ultimately, it boils down to talent. And I will rest easy knowing that the haters are just jealous. But I will love them anyway. Because I am the most humble person of all time. ♦