Before James Brown was famous, do you think he wished that maybe one day he’d be referred to as the Godfather of Soul – or that loved ones would fight over his money after he died?

My inner-stud hopes that chicks will fight over me someday. However, being 7/8 cynic – I don’t hope – I know for a fact that the best I’ll ever get will be some stress-inducing daughters clawing to get at my wallet for clothes, gas, movie tickets and the $30K they’ll need each year for spring break tuition (by then, actual college will be about as meaningful as free room and board at Phoenix On-line University) – and hopefully I’ll still be alive for it all.

I feel bad for James Brown. He was known as the hardest-working man in show business for decades, and it seems like all he’s got to show for it lately is a “grieving” widow who wants half his stuff. Does she miss him? Did she really love him? Were they ever even married? I don’t know those answers, nor do I care.

I do, however, care about my legacy. I worry about how I’ll be remembered, and what I’ll leave behind. These days it seems scary to even bequeath a dime, because it might wreck a lifetime’s worth of hard-fought, priceless effort.