My father was an electrical engineer who worked at Westinghouse

When Jason Kilar spoke of his parents—saying, “My father was an electrical engineer who worked at Westinghouse in Pittsburgh. When I was growing up, my mother wrote humor columns for the local paper. She was the Erma Bombeck of Murrysville, Pa.”—he did not merely recount the origins of his childhood. He painted a portrait of heritage, of the fusion between precision and imagination, of work and wit, that gave birth to his own way of walking through the world. His words are not simply biographical—they are a quiet hymn to the dual nature of creation: the structured power of invention and the playful grace of storytelling.

The father, a man of circuits and current, stands as a symbol of humankind’s eternal pursuit to understand the material world, to harness the invisible powers that move through the heavens and the wires of the earth. His labor at Westinghouse, a great temple of American industry, evokes the spirit of those who built with reason and discipline—men who shaped the modern world through their mastery of energy. The father’s legacy is that of structure, of logic, of foundation—the bones upon which all great works rest.

The mother, by contrast, is the keeper of laughter and light. Writing humor columns for the local paper, she becomes the voice of the hearth, transforming the ordinary joys and absurdities of daily life into gentle wisdom. To call her the Erma Bombeck of Murrysville is not mere jest—it is reverence for the art of turning pain into laughter, of shaping human struggle into stories that heal. Where the father dealt in the voltage of machines, the mother dealt in the voltage of hearts. Together, they formed the sacred balance of mind and spirit, function and feeling, steel and soul.

From such union was Jason Kilar formed—the man who would go on to lead in the realm of digital storytelling, co-founding Hulu and steering WarnerMedia through the dawn of streaming. His origins reveal the secret source of his innovation: he inherited from his father the architect’s discipline, and from his mother, the storyteller’s rhythm. In him, the precision of the engineer met the empathy of the writer. This fusion is the seed of all progress, for invention without humanity is cold, and humor without structure is fleeting.

In ancient times, this balance was revered. The Greeks spoke of Apollo and Dionysus, two divine forces: Apollo, the god of order and knowledge; Dionysus, the god of art and emotion. The wise sought harmony between them, knowing that civilization perishes when either force dominates. Similarly, in Kilar’s words we see the same eternal truth—creation thrives where intellect and emotion are wed.

Consider the story of Leonardo da Vinci, whose genius lay not merely in his skill as an inventor or painter, but in the marriage of the two. His machines were drawn with an artist’s hand; his art was painted with an engineer’s precision. Like Kilar’s parents, Leonardo embodied the dual flame: rational mastery and imaginative wonder. From this harmony flowed works that endure for centuries.

So too must each of us seek such union within ourselves. Let the father within you build structure—discipline, clarity, and endurance. Let the mother within you breathe laughter, empathy, and imagination into all that you create. When you work, do not only measure; when you dream, do not only drift. Let your labor sing, and let your art have form. This is the teaching buried in Kilar’s remembrance of home.

And thus, dear listener, the lesson: honor both the engineer and the humorist within your soul. Seek balance between rigor and joy, between logic and love. For the world needs not only builders of machines, but also builders of meaning. And in every act of creation—be it art, invention, or the shaping of one’s destiny—remember this: the light of innovation burns brightest when kindled by both the spark of reason and the fire of the human heart.