by Derrick Rose
* * *
Junior year in high school was that first championship for Simeon in so long. Like I said, it was a low-scoring game, like 31–29, and I won it with the last shot. Tie game and they’re taking the ball out. The guy who was next to me, Dex, he was our harassing guard, the best defensive guard we had. He ends up getting a steal off the inbound. He gives the ball to me like it’s a handoff in a football game. I remember being nervous at first, doing a hop like, “Let’s go.”
I remember later Coach Smith saying he turned to the bench and said we were winning, just the way I took that hop and my look. But in reality, I was scared. Kind of like that Mike Tyson thing when he was scared about getting into the ring. Until you do it a certain amount of times, you’re gonna be nervous. I don’t have that now, but when I was younger I did.
After I did the hop, it went away. I’m like, “I gotta make a move.” And by that time I was already in my mode of attacking and trying to get to a shot. When I took that bounce, it’s like, “Damn, we got it. It worked.” There’s nothing like that, when you make a clutch shot, execute a play, or make an easy layup. Taking the hop was just the confidence that I was gonna do something.
I remembered seeing what kind of defense they were playing. They were playing zone throughout the whole game. Of course, I’m gonna go left. I’m a right-hand driver who goes left. That shot was the same shot I made with the Bulls when we beat the Lakers on Christmas in 2011, the first game after the lockout, a floater. I’m thinking back then, if I get inside it could be a floater and there’s a good chance it’s going in.
Senior year, we’re downstate again, which is great, but I’m also thinking about Shaun Livingston, how he got two state championships. In Chicago, they always tell you about the people ahead of you. You’re always chasing. So, “Man, we have to get two. Be the first city player to have two.”
We got that one and then there were a lot of the big individual matchup games that season. There was Oak Hill and we beat Brandon Jennings’ team, lost that one in Vegas to O.J. Mayo, lost in Madison Square Garden against Kemba Walker’s team. That was the game I passed for a last shot and our guy missed. It was my fault. I’m the senior. I have to take that shot. Like when we lost to Kansas in the championship game when I was at Memphis. I remember putting my hand up. I missed a free throw, it’s on me.
Cal would tell me there’s no way. But I never shied away from anything like that. Bad play, bad mistake. I feel like I learn from my mistakes, but I made one like that again later with the Bulls. It was the playoff game in Milwaukee in 2015. We ended up winning the series, but I cost us a game. Jason Kidd was coaching the Bucks and drew up a play when Jerryd Bayless made a layup at the end. It was on me. I knew it. But that’s also one of the reasons why now I’m a better free throw shooter. That’s from that miss with Memphis. I always remember the mistakes more than the game-winners. The losses seem to stand out even more. Every summer I try to improve because of games when you miss and it costs your team. But what fun.
It also helps prepare you for the other stuff. We were winning so much in Chicago in high school it was kind of like what the fans did to me with the Bulls toward the end of my career, the negative. They did that to me in high school, too, because we were winning too much. I remember talking to my teammates in high school, it became us against the world. You see all those people celebrating against you. It’s tough, but it happens. I had it with the Bulls. No one wants to be booed in their hometown. I remember it happening overnight with LeBron after he went to Miami, and thinking how sad it was to see someone in their hometown having people turn on you. Then I started thinking about how I would deal with it.
Then I was dealing with it. Sometimes not so good.
* * *
The SAT controversy was part of high school. Everyone has already drawn conclusions on it one way or the other. It hurt most because the guys were affected, my teammates at Memphis, when the NCAA took the wins away. Living through the scrutiny also gave me a perspective on how the college entrance system can discriminate in certain ways.
I passed the first semester at Memphis with no problem, no help. I was just going to hoop, ready for it. I always passed my classes in high school. I never had a problem. I had over a 3.0 GPA one semester, I think. Got one F ever. I’m thinking, “I’m going to the league. I’m not going for a degree, but someone’s making a lot of money on this.”
But it’s, “He’s stupid, he’s this, he’s that.”
One semester. Without nobody, I got it done. My grades always were good. The reality for me and many other kids coming from our situations was there wasn’t test prep like in other places. Our schools are not always set up to prepare you for college entrance. You always hear those kinds of tests discriminate because schools are different. Simeon was no b.s. We were taking the classes. But I need to get to college in order to get to the NBA. That’s how players like me see it.
So what was going on? Making money off these kids coming in to play ball? Exploitation? Come on, man. I wanted to say something in Chicago when I was going through this and just rant about them doing that. “What you’re doing is wrong, period. There’s rules they had a long time ago that don’t make no sense now.” Back then the colleges didn’t have billion-dollar contracts with the networks to televise their games. And where did those billions go? What are they doing with that money? Not going to the players. Not going to the next generation of players to help them prepare for entering college.
What about the school? The money is not going to the school, either. If that was the case the landscape would be totally different. It would be more scholarships, free tuition. Maybe all these kids who aren’t in sports wouldn’t have to pay so much to go to college. But does the money go there?
I think it’s important for people to know that when I went to school, I did my work. I’m not saying I was the smartest, but I was getting steady Cs, an A, a B. Had some great teachers.
Like where I got my love of history—and conspiracies. Mrs. Brinkley and Mrs. Harley in high school were special. Mrs. Brinkley taught African American history. But in her classes she used to go on lectures about the government, like how they had cameras and TVs everywhere. I remember before they had them, her telling us about how they’re going to have these big, flat TVs on the wall, and they’re going to have cameras in them and you better watch out because people, the government, can watch you. I didn’t know what to believe. It didn’t sound right, but it was a fun story to hear. I didn’t take it too seriously, but like a lot of people, I like to talk about conspiracies. Recently I saw this story about China putting things in TVs or computers where they can track you. Is it true? I don’t know. Probably not. It sounds like a good story, though.
Mrs. Brinkley ended up passing away with cancer. But people like that are special for your life. They make you think, start to examine the world, challenge you to think for yourself. She was the first teacher who really caught my attention in class. I didn’t know I loved history. But it was just the way she was explaining it, making it come to life, keeping you up on what was going on, telling you stories, and allowing you to expand your mind.
Just think about what we had to go through and what others like me were going through every day. I’m coming into school and you ask me about a national test? I got attacked by roaches last night. I’m itching right now taking this test. Like, how can I focus on school sometimes when I’m trying to think about how to survive in bed at home?
I love the fact that in the mornings now with my son we can have an argument about what he’s going to eat, pancakes or waffles. You didn’t get breakfast options where I grew up. “All we have is toast.” So I’m lucky and grateful for what my son can have, living and caring and loving and not having to worry. There’d be numerous times on the porch when people would pull up with clubs, bats, shit you see in the movies. Being in the crib, that shit traumatizes you. A kid shouldn’t hav
e to go through that.
I always felt like if I passed the last exam, I was fine. That showed I paid attention to everything, meaning I could do the work—and I did. Basketball was too important to not take the work seriously. If I passed that exam it shows I wasn’t bullshitting anyone. And I was passing. Okay, I didn’t always do my homework. But I was okay in class. Teachers would give me Ds because of the homework thing sometimes. It was, “Hey, you smartass, gonna give you a D because you didn’t do the homework, but you can do the exam.”
Homework never had a shot against basketball. Come in, put my book bag down, go right outside, go to the court, shoot by myself, shovel the snow by myself if there’s snow. If there’s a dice game, head over to shoot dice, or pump some gas for cars because we need the money. And I’m doing that by myself until my mom comes home, sometimes waiting at the game to walk me back home. That was my life.
Look, without the one-and-done rule, I would have been in the league. I was going there the next year. You think I was the only one? At first, I wasn’t sure if I’d be at Memphis just one season, but Cal during that season was like, “I’m gonna hand the team over to you, play the way that you normally play and we’ll follow.” And then everybody started playing. The only thing I was worried about was just getting to college, start playing, just get through that first semester and I’m good. That was my mindset. I was going to the league.
6
I never really had any big racial stuff, any fights like that, but you feel it, the silent racism when you’re black going into places. Like when I couldn’t buy that building in downtown Chicago for my girl to open a shop. Didn’t want black people coming in there. They can’t say so, but you know that’s what that’s about. I had one thing happen at Memphis—it was no big deal, but still, it shows you something about the country.
I was walking back to my dorm at Memphis early on and there was a pickup truck with three or four white boys in it. I remember them just riding real slow behind me. They said it softly at first, like, “What’s up, my nigga?” I think there were three or four of them laughing, maybe to see my reaction. I’m acting like I didn’t hear ’em. I kept walking and one said it louder, “What’s up, my nigga?” I heard him again. I just looked at him and I kept walking, because me just coming from Chicago, we don’t bullshit. Like, if you’re trying to start something, then start something. So I just kept walking and left it like that. That really was the only thing I ever experienced there.
I never said anything to anyone, but you know those guys saying those things to me in Memphis aren’t coming to Chicago, to my neighborhood. It’s why racism is like being a coward—being tough in a gang. We have those guys in Chicago, just that they’re killin’ each other.
I’ve had other things like that, but I laugh at them. Let you know I understand it, but I always take the higher road whenever I see racism, because I feel like they’re dark souls. It’s energy I don’t need to be around. I’m not gonna say nothing because it’s four or five of y’all against one. I’m just gonna keep walking.
I look at y’all faces, though. So if I see one of y’all walking one day without your protection…you know. But I never had something where I was involved in a fight. It is kind of hard keeping your mouth shut, though, when you see things like police brutality, even if so many good officers are mixed in with the bad ones.
* * *
I was always proud to be in Memphis once I started to learn more about it. Of course, they have the National Civil Rights Museum there because that’s where Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. But that was where he was working for his people, supporting the garbage workers who were striking for a fairer situation. Another great African American man, a man who cared for others and sacrificed, sacrificed himself, really. It makes me think of Arthur Ashe, who was one of my heroes. Tragic the way he died so young.
The closest teammate I’ve had—other than Randall in high school—was Joakim Noah, and that’s where Arthur Ashe comes in again. A lot of people don’t mess with Joakim because they think there’s some bad shit that comes with him or just how outspoken he is or whatever. For me, I can respect that, knowing everything about him, like for him to be who he is and act the way he is. It’s an amazing story behind it. I actually want my son PJ to grow up to be like Joakim. You know, a free spirit, a loving guy. Joakim loves people. He’s just a great role model. And his story is special.
His pops was discovered by Arthur Ashe when he was just a kid—took him from their family and put him in school, a tennis school. So I’m asking Jo one day, “Your pops really knew Arthur Ashe?” I had played tennis and was pretty good and Arthur Ashe was such a hero if you were African American and played tennis, so off that, you got me. Joakim’s pop got put in school—they told his family he’d be taken care of and the family agreed to it. This is a stranger taking your kid, just historic.
And think of Jo. To be this silver-spoon kid, his dad is a big star, rich and famous, and he don’t want nothing to do with that. Like, “Nah, I’m doing my own thing.” Gets multiple contracts by himself when he easily could have lived off of his pops forever. His pops could’ve got him jobs. But he didn’t want that. He’s got his own individuality. That’s what I love about Jo, how he created something on his own. I want that for my son, too. I ask Jo questions so I can hear how he acted when he was young to get that way. Just so I can figure it out as a father with PJ when he’s doing shit he isn’t supposed to be doing. Jo tells the truth about what he experienced. He probably don’t even know how deep I think about it, but I love how open he is, how he trusts me with certain things.
Arthur Ashe was in a sport where they didn’t even want him in there. That’s the kind of inspiration that drives me. First off, to even play that sport, you gotta have money. So how are you that good to even know this? You know what I mean? He was great. And even more than that, he cared about people. He was on his way, doing his own thing, trying to change the world, and those are the things I respect about him. Then he gets HIV and all he cares about is helping others to learn all about the disease, marching for civil rights, his work with South Africa and apartheid—what a great, great man.
I used to talk to Jo all the time about his dad at Wimbledon and Ashe and that led to us having conversations about Africa, the world, civil rights—we hardly ever talked about basketball. We talked about immigrants a lot—his mom is from Sweden. Talked about the health care problems here. I felt like everything Arthur Ashe was doing was perfect. He was helping people. Dope in tennis. Dies at like 50, going in for an operation and he comes out dying of AIDS. Why him?
Those are the people you hear about and you know you can’t give up.
* * *
My season in New York was tough, and I know I fucked up by going home that one time without telling anyone first. That’s on me. It’s one of the reasons I’ve had to take these minimum contracts. I know what some teams think about me because of that. It’s okay—it’s on me. Again, something I have to show. But that season in New York we got to go to the new African American museum when we were in Washington, a special tour before it opened.
I still get emotional when I think about it. I rarely break down and cry. Other than when my grandmother died, my knee that time in the hospital, not much. Maybe when BJ called to tell me that the Bulls had traded me to the Knicks. But it got me at that museum. Sometimes I’ll be telling someone about it and start crying, trying to catch my breath. Amazing.
You walk in that place and, for me, you get emotional just being there. Because you’re surrounded by greatness—true greatness—but how they had to suffer and never got fair chances, it hits you, because they always tried to hide that story. Native Americans, African Americans, the embarrassment for our country to treat people like that. You get a close-up look into these people and see how hard they worked and how they were treated.
It’s emotional and it motivates me.
I saw Nat Turner’s Bible, the female slaves and how they didn’t have anything to write with or on—if the masters saw them writing they would kill them. So they used to pull out their hair and sew it into cloth. The thing that stood out—and I still start shaking when I think about it—is the auction block. Selling people. You feel me? I get to show my talent and play basketball, but look what these people went through, a whole country built on that. And it went on for so, so long and they were still making laws after the Civil War to make it like slavery—can’t vote, lynchings, all that.
How are you great when you can’t confront your truth? That’s America?
I’m not even there, but I totally understand it. It’s something I hold in because I don’t talk to people about that. But it helped show me who I am. Look around even today, even with me. I have money but when I shop—I’ll be in certain stores and just because of my appearance, especially now with my hair longer, little bit of hair on my face—I’ll be around a white person and I can feel the vibe that they’re scared. You hear these stories on the news of people calling the police because they saw a black person near their house. Really?
I can be in a store and the people at the door, security, they don’t know who I am. I walk in and might be looking like a bum because I look like a bum a lot of the time—or looking reckless after I came from a workout—and I’m not that tall, I look regular. They don’t think I’m supposed to be in there and they’ll follow me around the store. Keep following me, watching to see if I touch anything, like, “He ain’t gonna try something on! Oh no!”
And then it’s, “D-Rose, that you?”
I laugh at it, but it is serious and it still says something about our country. It also gives me an insight into what’s going on. It’s stereotyping, but I can’t let things like that affect me. Can’t get mad at everyone. Hey, if you feel that way, it’s on you. You got the problem. But can I get these shoes?
