From the Court to Creativity: My Journey to Hoop Kid and the Basketball Book Party

The ball slapped the concrete in Hutchinson, Kansas—a small town where basketball is king, home of the NJCAA tournament. Growing up there, I was surrounded by a community that lived and breathed the game. But for me, it was more than just a sport—it was my escape, my identity, my everything.

I was the youngest in the family, always the smallest on the court, and always the underdog in every pickup game. But being the underdog didn’t scare me. It fueled me. My Grandpa, not a coach but a man full of wisdom and resilience, watched from the porch as me and my older brothers battled in our driveway. He wasn’t there just to watch the game; he was there to watch us grow, to teach us something deeper. He called me a "Wizard,” with the basketball as I dribbled, passed, and shot my way through countless games of 21, 1v1, 2v2, and 3v3.

One day, during a particularly heated game, we broke our fiberglass backboard so badly that we had to hammer together a new one from scraps of wood in my Grandpa’s workshop.  Even then, I knew that basketball was more than just a game. It was about resilience—about getting back up, fixing what was broken, and coming back stronger.

As I got older, I dreamed of bigger courts—college basketball, maybe even the pros. But at eighteen, it all came crashing down. During a college practice, I soared to dunk the ball, swinging off the rim like I’d done countless times before. When I landed, though, I hit the ground hard. Pain exploded through me, a sharp, searing ache racing down my spine. The impact tore something deep inside, pinching a nerve that wouldn’t let go. I was born with my fifth lumbar vertebra half-fused to my pelvis (sacralization)—a scan later revealed it, a hidden flaw I’d carried my whole life. I didn’t even know it was there until that fall forced it into the light. That moment ended my basketball career.

I couldn’t play anymore. The injury didn’t just hurt physically—it hit me harder emotionally. My identity, wrapped up in basketball, was suddenly gone. But the driveway grit didn’t quit. I had to figure out what came next.

I started sketching. T-shirts, cartoons, bold designs, whatever came to mind. My hands needed something to do. Then, books became my new escape. Software manuals turned into graphic design skills, and biographies of survivors filled me with fire. My favorite book, The Alchemist, whispered courage and wisdom into my soul. I found creativity in design, and that became my new court.

The toughness I’d learned from basketball—resilience, teamwork, unshakeable drive—helped me navigate this new world. I wasn’t down for long. It wasn’t about basketball anymore; it was about finding new ways to channel my energy, my creativity, my lessons. And that’s when the idea for Hoop Kid and the Basketball Book Party came to me.

I wanted to hand kids something I didn’t have when I was younger—a lifeline when life knocks you down. A ball to build grit, a book to open new doors, and a sketchpad to express their creativity. I wanted to create a program that gave kids the tools to bounce back, no matter the odds.

Now, from Overland Park in the Kansas City metro, my goal is to help kids dribble fiercely, read deeply, and design wildly. To show them that life can knock you flat, but it’s never the final buzzer. To help them dream big, bounce back, and carve their own paths, just like I did.