*Me (4) and my sister posing with my father in our early days in Long Island.*

Where it all started- the blood in my bones that continues to drive the beat of my heart, my reason behind this passion project, my father.

Whether its due to passed on genetics, or being raised in a home where that same orange leather ball was always on tv, basketball has always been the center of my life.

What was the moment I fell in love? It’s hard to say. Was it the captivation of Dennis Rodman’s rotational hair dye (I recall vividly his cheetah dye), or the soaring flight of Micheal Jordan? Was it the fundamental playmaking of Coach Pop’s Spurs, or the bright and eye catching graphics of 90’s basketball jerseys? Maybe it was all of it.
But there is one moment I can pinpoint, where that love turned into a passion, a dream. I’ll give you a clue, it's the answer.

The Answer, aka Allen Iverson. The player who took the sport where Micheal Jordan exploded it and threw some more TNT in the mix, wrapped it in a barbed wire, and laid out a trail of rose petals. The league was transformed from a global impact sport to a culture. I was 10 years old, and wanted every finger sweatband, basketball sneaker, and poster with his name on it. My basketball team would go on to call me lil’ AI. I wore that badge with honor. Here’s this barely 6’ player, with handles smooth as butter, cooking dudes in the league. He never let obstacles get in his way and neither would I.

*I had this poster (one of many) up on my childhood bedroom wall.*

I started playing basketball as long as I can remember but I joined my first team in 5th grade. The Apostolic school I attended had an average graduating senior class of less than 10 students. We had a High School girl’s basketball team that could use all the players they could get. Our coach was our school’s gym teacher. We played that year against the other Christian schools that were in a 2 hour radius. I remember we had 0 team chemistry but all I cared was that I was cooking high schoolers like AI cooked Jordan at the free throw line.

The next year, our coach quit and rather than our team go defunct, my dad volunteered to coach the girl’s team. My DEAF dad, coach not just high school girls, but HEARING high school girls. (my sister and I interpreted when things weren’t understood). My Deaf mom was the assistant coach but was more of an unofficial “cheerleader”.
I remember the first time we had practice and we actually had to run suicides, drills, plays…wait we weren’t going to just shoot around however we wanted all practice like last year?
The girls complained and moaned….over time the complaining and moaning turned into winning and dominating. We were an actual team, with chemistry and love for one another which deepened my love for the game.

I learned the feeling of unity, the players on the court, moving together with the ball like individual notes blending together to create smooth jazz.
I learned the feeling of overcoming, being down in the 4th, breaking a finger on a stolen inbound pass and never giving up, to then hit a buzzer beater, game-wining baseline jumper with the same broken finger I had just taped up moments ago.
I learned the feeling of confidence, having my talent spotlighted by college players, and traveling team coaches.

We did so well that year, we closed out our season winning 1st place in our district.
All of this was possible because despite his lack of hearing, my dad took a chance to invest in us girls when no one else would.

Even if I didn’t know it, this was the seed that was planted in my subconscious and grew roots. The idea of spotlighting those who are overlooked. Recognizing when a story or a talent is in the shadows, and empowering people to be the best version of themselves they can be. All of these things, in the frame of the world of basketball.

I stopped playing team basketball sometime in high school but that love of the game, the craft, the stories never faded.

When I joined Made For The W in 2019, my dad shared his pride in my work not just with me but with those around him as well. It really felt like a full circle moment. All those years him watering those roots of basketball love and knowledge in me, led to a pouring into those around me and continues to do so.

My dad and I talked basketball every chance we had, up until he passed in 2020. It was unexpected and difficult to process.The world had just stopped a week prior and now so had mine. Most of my days were spent numbing my mind watching NBA game after NBA game in “the bubble”, in a bubble. I had to hold onto the one thing that made me feel close to him.

As time went on, the world changed to a “new normal” and so did I.

I went back to shooting for MFTW and found happy moments on the court, finding peace in imagining him watching over me.
When one day, it became a little too evident.
In 2022, while shooting WNBA pregame player arrivals, I spotted a person sitting by the court, using sign language. This was unusual as the doors weren’t yet open to the public. I introduced myself and explained that I was a photographer but also an interpreter, we engaged in brief conversation. Someone sitting close by overheard and exclaimed, “You’re an interpreter? We’ve been looking for one!”. This was the Head of Disability Services for the Sun/Mercury.

That moment and connection led to years of being able to marry basketball, accessibility, and spotlighting underrepresented people who move the game forward in ways I’d never imagined.

Starting Fives is the platform where we now share it.

There are a lot of exciting plans for the future and life in store, with basketball continuing to be the driving force at the center of it all. Most of it will be posted on this platform. I hope you will follow along and share the stories that grow out from the soil we share.
Here, we’re homegrown.

Thanks, Dad. 🤟🏼
B

Homegrown.