Building a Legacy Through LEGOs
LEGOs are awesome, aren’t they? I wouldn’t be where I am without them. My creativity began at an early age with those little plastic bricks. I still love LEGOs… who doesn’t? But that inherent creativity has morphed into a love for storytelling, and in turn, advertising. Whoa, whoa, whoa, you’re probably thinking… he stole that intro from his LinkedIn bio. Yes. Yes, I did. Let’s take a step back though, and I’ll explain how I reached this point.
All kids love building, right? It’s a universal thing. Hence LEGO’s brand value of over $9 billion. Just walk into any child’s bedroom and you’ll find a box of LEGO pieces or a Star Wars set on display. Or walk into any parents’ garage and you’ll probably find a container of dusty bricks. So, what makes my affection for LEGO unique? Especially if every kid in the world can follow a set of building instructions? Two things: creative intuition and familial connections. I’ll start with the latter, as it leads into the former.
For many years, my dad was a member of the Big Brothers Big Sisters of America. Big Brothers Big Sisters is a non-profit organization whose mission is to “create and support one-to-one mentoring relationships that ignite the power and promise of youth.” In 1990, my dad (who was 25 at the time) was matched with the adopted child of a single mother. His name was Mark. For decades, my dad served as an older brother figure for Mark. From an early age, Mark developed a fondness for LEGOs. So much so, that he turned their spare bedroom into a LEGO room. As a little kid, I remember walking through that room, amazed by his creations. Eventually, he parlayed his love for building into architecture and worked his way through grad school. Tragically, in 2011, Mark took his own life, just months before his graduation. He was only 29. Mark left behind his mother, Mary Ann.
Telling this deeply personal story serves two purposes: it explains the unique connection that my family has with LEGOs, and it lays the groundwork for where my creativity would lead. Following Mark’s death, we were the closest thing to family that Mary Ann had left. I had always thought of her as a grandmother figure; I imagine she thought of me as a grandson. One evening, months after Mark’s passing, my family was having dinner at Mary Ann’s house. We finished eating and she asked me to follow her into the garage. Inside, there were dozens of boxes stacked to the ceiling. Each box was filled to the brim with LEGO bricks. “Take a box,” she said. “Any box. And next time you can get another.” I carried a box to the car, and with it, I carried Mark’s legacy. My LEGO collection began to grow, as did my creativity. I began designing my own creations: detailed locations from my favorite movies, fictitious realms, and even school dioramas. I learned to call them MOCs, or “my own creations.”
For years, I continued to build. Then came high school. You know the deal… everyone hits the point where they’re embarrassed by a certain hobby or passion. And they sweep it under the rug, afraid to let it define them. Mark’s LEGOs became dusty once more, and I focused on other, “more mature” creative pursuits. Fast forward to 2021- I was home for Christmas break when a TikTok about LEGOs popped up. It listed a range of rare LEGO minifigures and the value of each. I grabbed a box and started digging, curious about how much I could sell them for. Then it hit me: I could never sell these… they hold too much meaning. As I sat on the floor, surrounded by LEGOs, I began reminiscing. I realized how much I missed LEGOs. I missed that therapeutic bliss of building creatively. And who cares what others think?
These days, I rarely go home; but when I do, I take the opportunity to build. I build, and I reminisce. I think of carefree days building sets as a little kid. I think of how LEGOs have shaped and built my life. I think of Mark and hope to continue his legacy.