In the heart of Oakland, California, as the sun set behind the city skyline, the cracked asphalt of Brookfield Community Park resonated with the purposeful beat of basketball. Jasmine Taylor, a 12-year-old girl with carefully braided hair and dreamy eyes, practiced her jump shots with unwavering focus. Her sneakers, worn and patched with duct tape, barely held firm as she moved, but Jasmine ignored her. On this court, she was free: her worries, her mother’s struggles, the weight of her modest life—all vanished with each bounce of the ball.
Coach Marcus, a kind man in his early forties who spent his evenings helping the community’s children, observed Jasmine’s fitness with a mixture of pride and concern. “Still got energy for a few more throws, Jazzy?” he called out, hiding his concern for his battered shoes.
“Always, Coach!” Jasmine replied, forcing a bright smile, even though her legs were shaking with exhaustion.
At dusk, Denise Taylor arrived at the courthouse, still in her nursing assistant uniform after a long shift. Her face lit up when she saw her daughter. “Come on, honey. I need to change before the night shift at the restaurant,” she called out.
Back in their small two-bedroom apartment, Jasmine helped her mother prepare a quick dinner before Denise left for her second job. “Did you see, Mom? The Warriors are playing tomorrow. Can I watch them at Mrs. Johnson’s?” Jasmine asked, referring to her elderly neighbor who let her watch the games on her old television.
—Sure, honey. Just don’t come back too late. And your homework?
“I’m almost done,” Jasmine replied, stirring the noodles. Then, almost shyly, she added, “Mom, Tanya bought some new sneakers yesterday, from the Curry line. Do you think I could ever have some like those?”
Denise’s heart ached. “Jasmine, I’d love to buy you those sneakers, but they’re almost $200. Right now, we have to prioritize rent and bills. But I’m saving a little each month. Maybe for your birthday.”
Jasmine nodded, with an understanding beyond her years. “I know, Mom. Don’t worry.”
That night, while Denise was working, Jasmine finished her homework at her small desk. Her old phone buzzed with a message from Darius, a friend from the community basketball program: “ Did you see him?” Steph Curry will be in Oakland next month for a charity event at Oakland Tech.
Jasmine’s heart started racing. Steph Curry wasn’t just her favorite player, he was her hero. Not just for his stunning three-point shooting, but for his kindness and generosity off the court. She devoured every word of the article about the upcoming event, learning that Curry would be raising funds for athletic programs in Oakland public schools.
Looking at her worn sneakers, Jasmine felt a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could get closer to her idol. She took out a piece of paper and began to write, putting her whole heart into every word.
“Dear Steph Curry,
My name is Jasmine Taylor. I’m 12 years old and I live in Oakland. You’re my biggest idol, not just because of basketball, but because of who you are. I watch your games on Mrs. Johnson’s TV because we don’t have cable at home. I play basketball on Coach Marcus’s show at Brookfield Park. He says I have a natural talent, especially for three-pointers. I try to imitate your style and I practice every day, even when it’s raining.
My mom works two jobs to support us. Things are tough, but she does everything for me. I help out by doing odd jobs for neighbors. Mr. Curry, I’ve been wearing the same sneakers for two years. They’re falling apart on the sides and the sole is coming off. I dream of owning sneakers from your line, not only because they’re amazing, but because it would be like having a bit of your strength and determination with me on the court.
I know you receive thousands of requests, and I don’t expect you to read this letter. But I learned from you that faith can move mountains and that we should always try, no matter the adversity.
Thank you for being an inspiration to kids like me in Oakland. Someday, I hope to help my community, like you.
With admiration, Jasmine Taylor”
For three days, Jasmine hid the letter under her mattress, checking it every night. Finally, she showed it to Coach Marcus. He read it, holding back tears. “That’s perfect, Jazzy. You know, my friend Leon works for Curry’s event organizers. Let’s see if he can help deliver your letter.”
Jasmine’s eyes widened. “Really, Coach? Would you do it?”
“I can’t promise anything,” Marcus warned, “but I’ll try.”
For the next two weeks, Jasmine saved every penny she could, making deliveries for Mr. Patel’s grocery store and watering Mrs. Johnson’s plants. She managed to save $28; not enough for new sneakers, but a testament to her determination.
One Friday, Coach Marcus handed him a small envelope. “Leon got you a pass to the event. It’s only for the outdoor area, not for the personal meeting, but you can hand your letter to the staff. I can’t promise, but it’s a chance.”
Jasmine hugged him tightly. “Thanks, Coach. Even if nothing happens, it’s worth a try.”
On the day of the event, the Oakland Tech courtyard was packed. Jasmine clutched her letter, her mother at her side. When Curry finally arrived, the crowd erupted. Jasmine watched, fascinated. After her speech, she nervously approached an event organizer. “Excuse me, could you give this letter to Mr. Curry? It’s very important.”
The woman smiled kindly. “We get a lot of letters, dear. I can’t promise I’ll look at them, but I’ll put them in their pile.”
On the way home, Denise noticed Jasmine’s silence. “Are you disappointed?
