EDITOR’S NOTE: The Athletic is introducing a series to help Kentucky basketball fans get to know their freshmen in a different way — through the eyes of parents who are sending them off into the great, wide world for the first time.
For each installment, we’ll conduct a lengthy interview and use that material to help moms and dads craft letters to their sons, full of fond memories, sage advice and cautionary tales as they embark on college careers and chase NBA dreams. You can read previous editions here.
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These are “Letters from Home,” and 6-foot-3 McDonald’s All-American guard Immanuel Quickley has mail from Havre de Grace, Md., where his mother, Nitrease, a high school English teacher and former college hooper herself at Morgan State, prays that he will always dare to be different – and get a haircut soon.
Dear Immanuel,
We’ve called you Manny-man and Bud at times over the years. People also love to use your initials, IQ, which didn’t happen by accident. But I prefer your given name, Immanuel, because of what it means: “God with us.” He always is, and I didn’t want you ever to forget that.
You’re probably wondering why I’m writing again, since we covered a lot of this in that letter I tucked inside your suitcase when you left for Lexington this summer. But when The Athletic asked if there was anything else I wanted to say to my little boy as he begins life as a man, you know I couldn’t resist.
So I’ll repeat myself some – we can all use a regular reminder to live our lives according to Matthew 6:33 and Seek ye first the kingdom of God – but I’ll also use this opportunity to share some of the countless times you’ve made your mother smile. They asked me when was the first time I could remember being proud of you for something, and the truth is I couldn’t remember a time I wasn’t.
The first time you brushed your teeth, played a piano recital, blessed our food, played drums at church, led a prayer in front of the congregation, played the saxophone in the school band, made the principal’s honor roll or wrote in your fifth-grade yearbook that you wanted to be a basketball player and an eye doctor when you grow up, there I was with a heart full of joy. But never more so than when you had to come up with an idea for a senior project at The John Carroll School.
Some of your classmates made it about themselves, but I challenged you, like always, to make it matter. So you decided to give a free basketball camp for the kids at your old middle school, planning and organizing (with a little help from Mom, of course) and rounding up coaches and teachers to join you. When the big day came, you didn’t make a token appearance, as sometimes happens at these things. No, you spent real time and had meaningful interactions with those kids, showing them you cared and sharing with them your wisdom.
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The smiles on their faces said those memories are going to last a lifetime. I know I’ll never forget.
We’ve been in church every time the doors were open since you were a baby, Immanuel, but what we do out in the world ultimately defines our faith. Now, don’t get me wrong, when I saw you send a tweet asking for church recommendations in Lexington as soon as you arrived, I said, “That’s my guy!” (And hey, now you have a place to sneak away from the stress of basketball and play the drums.)
But you’re already living the best advice I can give you: Treat everyone you meet like the most important person in the world. I know how quickly the thrill and flattery of fans asking for an autograph or a picture can wear off, and that it can sometimes seem overwhelming or like a chore, but always take time for people. And when you’re with them, be present and sincere and kind and interested in them. Make people feel special, because people matter and you never know who you’re talking to.
That’s really all I’ve got, son. You don’t need my help with the basketball. You never have.
Remember when I tried to turn you into a piano player and delay your athletic career? Ha! Fail and fail. Let’s be real: Most parents try to fulfill our own dreams through our kids, and since I’d always regretted not learning piano, I said, “By golly, my child is going to play.” And you did. And you were so good! But from the time you could pick up a couple of spoons and find something to bang on, you were a drummer at heart. To this day, my little porcelain figurines have no hands because you liked to use those as your snares.
Nitrease tucked a letter into Immanuel’s suitcase before he left for Lexington.I gave in on your instrument of choice, but I tried to put up a fight on basketball. I knew once you started, it would be all-consuming, and I wanted you to try a few other things first. So when you were 4 years old and my sister, Aunt Mechie, asked if you could tag along to the 5-year-old rec league game she was coaching, I made her promise you wouldn’t play. That girl lied.
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When she found herself short a player, facing a forfeit, she told you not to tell me and threw a jersey on you. All of the people reading this letter can probably guess what happened next: My little Manny-man was the best player on the court and hit the game-winning shot, and there was just no stopping you from there. State champ at John Carroll, FIBA gold medal with USA Basketball, McDonald’s All-American, five-star recruit.
Before we knew what hit us, it was time to make a college decision, and I’m sure you weren’t surprised by my advice: Pray about it and ask God to make the choice clear. Not long after that, you were invited to try out for the under-19 USA team coached by … John Calipari. “Oh,” I thought, “Kentucky was already on my mind.” In those few weeks together, you and Cal figured out that you’re a perfect fit – you, a poised perfectionist of a point guard and him, a point guard whisperer known for helping kids reach their dreams and challenging them every day to get there.
We asked for signs, and more came by way of text messages. Cal started sending me inspirational quotes that he shares with his players – one from his own mother really moved me – and it was pretty much a done deal from there. My classroom is filled with uplifting messages, many of which I now text back to Cal, so I understand how special it is when a teacher inspires a child. I wanted to find a coach who would inspire mine. Just like that, we had our answer.
Isn’t it funny how that works? All we have to do is ask. Remember, my child, that you are never alone. As you move through life and face bigger and harder questions than where to play college basketball, when the fame fades and some hard days inevitably come, look no further than your own name for comfort and guidance. Immanuel. God with us.
Love,
Mom
P.S. Please get a haircut. I’m reading all these articles about you and looking at the photos, seeing those plats in your hair, and saying, “Who is that child? That child is not my son.” You haven’t called me in a while, I assume because you know your hair is a hot mess and you don’t want to hear my mouth. Well, sorry. Cut your hair, son. Comb your hair. You’re representing me out there!
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