By Preston J. Richberg

Chief Commissioner & Grandfather to the G7

​The Dark Ages (1950–1980)

​To understand the necessity of this Commission, one must first understand the suffering of its patriarch, my father, Gabriel Jessica Richberg VI.

​My father was a titan of industry—a man of stature, wealth, and impeccable grooming. Yet, he was haunted by a single phonetic sequence. He would often recount the story of his first day of varsity football practice. The team stood silent as the coach read down the roster.

​"Miller, Thomas." (Silence).

"O'Malley, Patrick." (Silence).

"Richberg, Gabriel Jessica."

​The locker room erupted in hysterics.

​For decades, my father was baffled. He spent his life trying to understand what it was about the name "Gabriel" that triggered such a primal, mocking response. Was it the biblical connotation? The soft vowels? It was a phonetic tragedy that he simply could not escape. He was a Richberg, and he was a Jessica, but the world simply would not let him be a Gabriel.

​The Great Correction (1981–2000)

​When I was born, my father made a heartbreaking but necessary decision. To save me from the "Curse of the Gabe," he severed the lineage. He named me Preston Jessica Richberg.

​It was a somber day for our family history, but the data vindicated him. While my father was mocked relentlessly, I walked the halls of that same high school with relative impunity. By simply removing "Gabriel" from the equation—and keeping the rest of our dignified family name intact—the bullying ceased.

​I lived a life of peace. I foolishly believed the curse was broken.

​The Hubris of Youth (2025)

​The crisis returned not through malice, but through ignorance.

​My son, Preston Jessica Richberg Jr., grew up in a world without bashing. He never felt the sting of a snicker. He grew up believing that my father’s stories were exaggerations—ghost stories from a bygone era.

​When his own son was born last year, Preston Jr. looked at me with the defiant eyes of a man who has never known true hardship. He told me he wanted to "reclaim the heritage." He wanted to "honor the past." Against my strenuous objections, he named the boy Gabriel Jessica Richberg VII (The G7).

​The Formation of the Commission (Present Day)

​I knew instantly that my son had made a grave calculation error.

​Within weeks, I saw the signs. Strangers in the park would ask the baby’s name. When my daughter-in-law replied, "This is Gabriel Jessica," I saw the smirk. I saw the nudge. The anti-Gabe bias hadn't disappeared; it was merely dormant, waiting for a fresh target.

​My son may have started this fire with his idealism, but I must be the one to put it out. I founded the Gabe Protection & Rights Commission to act as a shield for my grandson, who is now walking into a world his father is too naive to fear.

​We fight so that The G7 may survive his father's choice.

​In Service to the Cause,

​Preston J. Richberg