STEPHEN CURRY’S SON ASKS, “WHAT’S YOUR BIGGEST FEAR?” — HIS ANSWER LEFT THE WHOLE FAMILY IN TEARS
.
.
.
“What’s Your Biggest Fear, Dad?”
The Night Steph Curry’s Family Changed Forever
It was nearly midnight when Stephen Curry found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, hands trembling slightly as the quiet of the house pressed in around him. The familiar comfort of his home in Atherton felt different tonight, weighed down by a question so simple, yet so profound, that it had shaken him in ways he never expected.
Hours earlier, the Curry household buzzed with the warmth of a typical Tuesday night. The scent of Isha’s roasted chicken lingered in the air, and the kitchen echoed with laughter as Riley and Ryan swapped stories from school. Canon, Steph’s eight-year-old son, sat beside him, eyes bright with curiosity and a depth that often surprised adults.
After dinner, while Steph helped Canon with his math homework, the conversation drifted to heroes. “Dad, can you tell me about real heroes?” Canon asked, his voice earnest. Steph smiled, thinking of firefighters, doctors, teachers, and soldiers. He shared stories of courage, watching Canon’s admiration grow.
Then came the question that caught Steph off guard. “Are you a hero, Dad?” Steph hesitated, unused to such directness. “I just play basketball, son. I don’t know if that makes me a hero.” Canon persisted, “But you inspire people. Mom says you show people they can achieve dreams if they work hard. Isn’t that brave?”
Steph felt a wave of affection for his son’s innocence and insight. Maybe, he thought, we’re all heroes in different ways.
Later, as Steph carried Canon to bed—a tradition from when Canon was too small to climb the stairs—he savored the security and love in these ordinary moments. In Canon’s room, as pajamas were donned and toys put away, the conversation continued.
“Dad,” Canon asked, “do all heroes have fears?”
“Of course,” Steph replied, smoothing his son’s hair. “Being afraid is part of what makes someone brave. Courage isn’t not being afraid. It’s doing the right thing even when you’re scared.”
Canon processed this, his little brow furrowed in thought. Then, with the seriousness only children can muster, he asked, “Dad, what is your biggest fear?”
The world seemed to stop. Steph felt as if Canon’s innocent question had opened a door in his soul he didn’t know existed. He tried to deflect with a joke—something about Canon not brushing his teeth—but Canon wasn’t fooled. “No, Dad. Really. What is your biggest fear?”
Steph’s heart pounded—not with the familiar adrenaline of a big game, but with something deeper and more vulnerable. He promised Canon he’d think about it and give an honest answer in the morning, sealing the promise with their pinky ritual. As he closed Canon’s door and walked back to his own room, the question echoed in his mind: What is my biggest fear?
Lying next to Isha, Steph stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He thought about the countless ways he’d built his life around strength, resilience, and optimism—always the dependable father and husband, the hero on and off the court. But now, alone in the dark, he realized there were fears so deep he’d never allowed himself to name them.
He got up and wandered the silent house, pausing at each child’s door. Riley, at fifteen, slept with her phone in hand, teetering between childhood and adolescence. Ryan, thirteen, sprawled across her bed, blankets tangled, hair a wild mess—a mirror of Steph’s own restless energy as a child. Canon, the question-asker, slept peacefully, his face soft in the hallway glow.
Steph felt a surge of protective love mixed with something sharper—pure terror. He allowed himself, for the first time, to imagine the unimaginable: What if something happened to him? What if he wasn’t there to see his children grow up, to guide them, to protect them? Would Canon remember his father’s laugh? Would Riley and Ryan have the support they needed to navigate life’s challenges?
He thought of friends lost too soon—childhood companions, teammates, neighbors—men who didn’t get to see their children grow. Why had he always assumed he’d be different? That he’d have decades to be present, to protect, to guide?
Standing in the kitchen, Steph stared out the window at the backyard where so many memories had been made. Each moment—teaching the kids to ride bikes, family picnics, laughter under the trees—felt suddenly finite, precious. Canon’s question had forced him to confront the truth every parent must face: The time we have with our children is limited, and every moment is sacred precisely because it’s temporary.
As dawn crept in, Steph finally understood his fear. His greatest terror was not failure or public scrutiny, but dying before his children grew up—leaving them without the protection, guidance, and love they deserved. It was the fear that one day they would need him, and he would not be there to answer.
When Isha found him awake in the living room, Steph confessed the question that had kept him up all night. She listened, tears in her eyes, understanding instantly the depth of his fear because she carried it too. They held each other, united by the vulnerability that comes from loving deeply and fearing loss.
That morning, Steph gathered the family in the living room before school. The girls paused their routines, sensing the seriousness in their father’s voice. Canon sat on the floor in front of him, eager for the answer he’d been promised.
“Last night, Canon asked me what my biggest fear is,” Steph began, his voice trembling. “And I realized I’d never really thought about it. But now I know. My biggest fear is dying before you grow up—not being here to protect you, to see you graduate, get married, have your own children. It’s losing the opportunity to show you how much I love you.”
Tears filled Canon’s eyes first, then Riley’s. Ryan rushed to hug her father, sobbing, “I don’t want you ever to go away, Dad.” Isha wept quietly, moved by Steph’s vulnerability. For a long moment, the family simply held each other, united in their shared fear and love.
Steph continued, “Because of this fear, every moment I spend with you becomes sacred. Every conversation, every laugh, every hug is precious because our time together isn’t infinite. Our fears, as terrifying as they are, remind us how much we love each other. They motivate us to be present, to cherish every day.”
The family began to share their own fears. Canon admitted, “I’m afraid I won’t be brave when I grow up. I’m afraid of disappointing you. And now I’m afraid you’ll go away before I can show you I’m strong.” Riley confessed, “I’m afraid I’ll never be special on my own, that I’ll always just be Steph Curry’s daughter.” Ryan, usually so energetic, whispered, “I’m afraid you don’t take me seriously because I’m the youngest.”
Isha spoke last, her voice steady but emotional. “My biggest fear is that I’m not giving you everything you deserve as a mother. And, like Dad, I’m afraid something could happen to me before I see you become the amazing adults I know you’ll be.”
In that living room, the Curry family discovered something powerful: that sharing their deepest fears did not weaken them—it made them stronger. By being vulnerable together, they created a safe space where everyone could be authentic, loved, and accepted, not despite their fears, but because of them.
Steph realized he had spent so much time trying to be the strong, fearless father that he almost missed the chance to teach his children the most important lesson of all: that true strength comes not from pretending to be fearless, but from loving each other through the fear.
Riley summed it up perfectly: “It’s like we were all pretending to be stronger than we are. But when we stopped pretending, we discovered we’re stronger together than any of us could be alone.”
The family made a new tradition that day—weekly “vulnerability check-ins,” where anyone could share their fears, worries, or gratitudes without judgment. They promised to say “I love you” out loud, to create new memories, and to cherish every moment together.
Canon, the catalyst for this transformation, concluded with wisdom beyond his years: “Being brave isn’t not being afraid. It’s loving someone so much that you’re brave, even when you’re scared.”
And so, what began as a simple question from a child became a defining moment—a story not of basketball or public triumph, but of courage, vulnerability, and the sacredness of every shared moment. The Currys learned that true greatness isn’t measured by what you achieve, but by how deeply you love and how bravely you face life’s uncertainties together.
Because they were afraid of losing each other, every moment became sacred. And in that sacredness, they found the strength to be the family they always wanted to be: real, honest, and unbreakably connected.
play video:
