His Last Name

The day had finally arrived and my stomach was in knots. I was seated in the third row in Barclays Center in Brooklyn, New York, at the NBA Draft. Everything around me made me feel extremely nervous—the crowd, the noise, the cameras flashing. I sat next to Carl and grabbed onto his shoulder as each name was called. They were announcing the fourth pick. I heard the commissioner say, “The Charlotte Hornets select guard from Temple University . . .” I shouted, “Thank you, Lord! Thank you!” I clasped my hands together in praise before he completed his sentence. I knew the next two words would be “Kadir Hall.” He was the only first round draft pick from Temple. By the time I finished praying and stood up, Kadir was proudly walking across the stage putting on his teal and purple Charlotte Hornets hat. He shook the commissioner’s hand and smiled for the cameras. My son had just become an instant millionaire. My phone immediately chimed with dozens of congratulatory texts and phone calls. I couldn’t respond because I was too excited and full of joy. Carl brought me into his arms, and we both began crying and hugging each other. Everything I worked for had paid off. My boy did it. He was a professional basketball player.

Kadir walked off the stage and was bombarded by ESPN and other networks. He grabbed my arms as the reporters asked him questions. The first reporter asked him how he felt. I was proud that I raised a young man who could handle himself and speak articulately. But then, I heard his response: “My parents were always there for me and especially this man right here. I am who I am because of him and my faith.” He pulled Carl closer to him and continued speaking. “He is the one who held our family together. He worked two jobs so I could be raised right.” Then he must have seen the shocked expression on my face. Yes, it was true that Carl had paid the bills, but I was at every game. “Oh, and my mom, too! She is my rock and sacrificed her life to get me here.” He then took his hat off his head and placed it on mine. That is more like it, I thought as I smiled for all the cameras and prayed again.

After the official draft, there was a party at the 40/40 Club. The club was beautiful and crowded with reporters, agents, players, fans, and celebrities. We were able to get right in, there was no waiting in line. It was a little overwhelming when I realized that people knew who Kadir was already. They were coming up to him, shaking his hand, and asking him for pictures and autographs. A group of young girls in short dresses that made me blush, with weaves that touched their asses, followed us to our table and were salivating all over my baby. One out of the pack was very bold. She came over and asked Kadir if I was his girlfriend. My son’s eyes were fixated on the girl’s curves.

On my way to smoke, I ran into Kadir’s agent, Eric Turner. He was a young black agent with the Daniel Ready Agency. Kadir wanted an agent who he could relate to, but who would also represent him well. Other agents had fancier presentations, but we chose Eric because he knew exactly who Kadir was and who he wanted to be. He came over to me and gave me a big, warm hug. I think he was more excited than I was.

“Now we have to get Kadir ready for North Carolina. He leaves in the morning. He needs to head back to the hotel and be ready for his eight o’clock flight. The Hornets jet is flying us down to visit and introduce him to the GM and coaching staff. Then, once he signs tomorrow, they should have his first check wired into his account in a few weeks.”

I walked out of the club and up the block to have a cigarette. With Kadir dancing, no one could tell me I shouldn’t be smoking. It was a bad habit that I’d stopped, but when I was nervous I had to have a few. And I was nervous about all of this. Who knew that my decision to raise a little boy on my own at sixteen would lead to this?

My phone was still ringing, and I had a bunch of unanswered messages. I scrolled through my texts. Some of the numbers didn’t have names, and I didn’t know who they were. The texts ranged from “Congrats!” to asking Kadir to call them. Then my phone rang again. It was my bestie, CeCe.