VERY FIRST PERSON : My Son, the Marketing Opportunity : Kids Are Expensive, Corporate Sponsorships Ubiquitous. Let’s Make Some Synergy Happen, You Farsighted CEOs.
My wife and I had our first child, a boy, this summer. I couldn’t be happier. Really, I’m getting choked up just thinking about it . . . OK. Enough of that. Let’s get to the point. Crikey! Are kids ever expensive.
First, there are huge start-up costs--crib, changing table, bedding, stroller, car seats, rocking chair--the list never ends. Then I hear they want food and something to wash it down with. And we all know where those habits land us: up to our armpits in diapers.
From there, apparently, it just keeps getting worse: neon blue braces, soccer shinguards, inflatable Godzilla party trampolines, escalating liability premiums, first auto accident, holographic wrist-mounted cell phones. And, as if such a massive expense account wasn’t enough, there’s also the matter of salary. (I guess we’re supposed to call it “allowance.” But we still plan to deduct federal, state, Social Security and city taxes--to teach him fiscal responsibility--and we’ll audit every two years because, face it, not even one’s flesh and blood can be trusted when a W-2 is involved.)
The total cost of childhood? According to a recent U.S. Department of Agriculture study, a two-parent, middle-income family (that’s us) can expect to blow $156,690 for the kid’s first 17 years. When you factor in inflation, the figure balloons to $240,000. And that’s not the worst of it. Unless we get lucky and he’s summarily incarcerated, in which case taxpayers will pick up the $30,000 or more yearly tab, we’ll probably have to deal with college. Even a crummy school will cost $25,000. If he takes after his mother, he might actually have the brains for a good school, which could run $100,000.
So let me be clear here: We don’t have the money, we can’t get the money, and we’ll never have the money.
As I see it, we have few options. We can set the kid afloat in a waterproof basket on Ballona Creek in hopes that Jeffrey Katzenberg, sobbing on the banks over his failed dream studio, will scoop him up and anoint him “The Prince of Egypt.”
Or we can skip the biblical fantasies and put the kid up for adoption. Of course, in 18 years, he’ll track us down and sue for emotional distress. After the jury gets a load of his sob story, we’ll be stuck with a judgment that is 10 times the original cost to raise him.
Which leaves one alternative: corporate sponsorship.
Now, I’m told that overly aggressive expansion is a leading cause of failure in start-up businesses. So, for the moment, we’re thinking locally (we’ll go national in phase two of our family production plan; international if there’s a phase three). Here’s how the baby Miller Southern California corporate contribution plan works:
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The Cotton Diaper Donor
Any company that contributes $500 to our son’s development will be affectionately known as a CDD around our household. Plus we’ll throw in these benefits:
* Our son will wear a patch with your corporate logo on his jammies. (Act fast. Space is limited. Once he starts crawling, all those stock car sponsors will almost certainly converge to plaster his PJs with STP, Winston and Hooters stickers).
* A full-color photo--autographed by our son--on each of his birthdays.
* The name of your main competitor on the inside of all his Huggies.
Ideal local candidate: Spago. Extra bonuses include my son’s wearing a Spago bib at all meals until his 17th birthday. Also, we’ll affectionately nickname him “ ‘Lil Lobster Tail With Mutton Sauce Pizza.”
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The Bronze Shoe Donor
For $1,000, this donor gets all privileges of prior contributor, plus these exciting benefits:
* The name of your company emblazoned on a floor tile in our son’s room.
* A videotape of him clearly stating the name of your company--and we’ll swear to the news media that those were his first words.
Ideal candidate: Long Beach Aquarium of the Pacific. No additional benefits; I just think the kid would love to stare at the fish.
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The Golden Palm Print Donor
For $10,000:
* Our son will use your corporation’s name in a complete sentence each time a relative or passerby stops to fawn.
* Will tease and/or beat up other kids who don’t wear your corporate logo. If he’s the runt of his class, he will ring the doorbells of non-sponsor families and run.
Ideal local candidate: Los Angeles Kings. When thrashing classmates, he will wear Kings goalie mask and pads. Or, if ringing doorbells, will make fast getaway in official Kings’ Roller Blades.
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The Platinum Braces Donor
For $25,000:
* Our son will say the name of your corporation or product 25 times a day to the demographic audience of your choice.
* A front-row seat at all his birthday parties, where you’ll hear him exclaim upon opening any product from your corporate family: “It’s just what I always wanted!”
* During juvenile delinquency phase, will make a good-faith effort not to mock, vandalize or shoplift from your business or corporation.
Ideal Candidate: Disneyland. Additional Benefit: At Halloween will only dress as a Disney character. When riding Jungle Cruise attraction, will laugh at every joke told by boat skippers. Will repeatedly sing, “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” in any theater showing a DreamWorks film.
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The Brass Ring Donor
For $100,000:
* My son will wear a sandwich board to school advertising your product.
* Will write in the name of your CEO for class president.
Ideal candidate: UCLA. Think ahead. This deal guarantees that my son will resist Stanford’s and USC’s sweet offers and bring his “slash-and-burn” style of play (just like his dad’s) to Pauley Pavilion. And I pledge that he won’t go pro early unless the Lakers offer him “Shaq” money.
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The Super-Duper Golden Parachute Donor
For $500,000:
* When answering phone, our son will say, “Hello, the (Your Corporate Name)-Miller Residence.”
* Will refer to CEO as “Dad” or “Mom,” as appropriate.
* Will tattoo your corporate logo on my son’s butt.
Ideal candidate: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. Will liven up boring costume dramas with his thrilling “slash-and-burn” acting. I see a Tom Hanks-type career here. He’ll make his name in funny flicks like “Splash,” will skip the “Turner & Hooch” phase and jump straight into “Saving Private Ryan” movies. Yeah, MGM is perfect.
Or Fatburger. Either one.
But wait, there’s more. My wife and I have yet to finalize a name for our son. Nothing seems to go with Miller. So, we’re settling it this way. We’ll name our son after any truly devoted patron--think eight figures minimum, pal.
To me, “Trader Joe” Miller sounds terrific. But Jalapeno Jack Miller, Aged Cheddar Miller or Semi-Ripe Limburger Miller could also work should those “It’s the Cheese” folks show interest.
Remember, though, all these fabulous benefits last only until his 18th birthday. If you want to renegotiate with him then, that’s his business. After all, if there’s one lesson I hope to impart to my son, it’s this: “Be your own man.”
