A gentle rain tapped against the window as Stephen Curry rummaged through the attic of his Atherton, California home. He was searching for old memorabilia to share with his kids, but what he found instead was a box labeled in faded black marker: “Granddad’s Things.” Stephen paused, feeling a pang of guilt—he’d never really known his grandfather, who had passed away when Stephen was just a baby. His father, Dell, rarely spoke of him, and the details of his life were shrouded in mystery.
Inside the box, beneath brittle newspaper clippings and yellowed ticket stubs, Stephen discovered an envelope. The paper was soft and fragile, addressed in elegant, old-fashioned script: “To my grandson. When he is ready.” Stephen’s heart skipped. He opened the envelope with trembling hands and unfolded the letter, the neat but shaky handwriting bringing his grandfather’s voice into the room.
“Stephen,” it began, “there are things you need to know about me, about your father, and about the sacrifices made to give you the life you live now.”
A shiver ran through him. He’d always thought he knew the Curry story—Dell’s NBA career, Stephen’s own rise to stardom, the values that guided them. But the letter hinted at something deeper, more personal, a secret that had shaped generations.
As the rain intensified, Stephen settled into an old armchair and read every word. His grandfather wrote about growing up in a small Pennsylvania town, about dreams bigger than steel mills and smoky skies, about being drafted into World War II and returning home forever changed. He spoke of a friend named Thomas, a bond forged in the fires of the steel mill and the horrors of war, and of a tragedy that haunted him for the rest of his life.
Stephen barely moved as hours slipped by. The letter spoke of prejudice and hardship, of a world that never gave his grandfather a fair chance, and of the guilt he carried over Thomas’s death in a mill accident. “I should have saved him,” the letter read. “I lived, and he didn’t. That pain shaped the man I became, and I tried to turn it into strength for your father, and for you.”
Downstairs, Ayesha called him for dinner, but Stephen couldn’t tear himself away. The envelope had unlocked a mystery that threatened to reshape everything he thought he knew about his family.
The next morning, Stephen sat at the kitchen table, the letter spread before him. The smell of pancakes and bacon drifted through the air, but his mind was elsewhere. When Ayesha asked what was wrong, he shared the story. She listened, then gently suggested, “Maybe you should talk to your dad. If anyone knows more, it’s him.”
After breakfast, Stephen called Dell. “Hey, Dad. I found a letter from Grandpa. It’s… got me thinking. There’s something he wanted me to know about his life, about a secret.”
Dell was silent for a long moment. “Your grandfather was a complicated man,” he finally said. “He worked in that mill for decades. Did everything he could to put food on the table, but there were things he never told anyone, not even me. He fought in the war, but he didn’t come back the same. Sometimes, after a few drinks, he’d mention a friend named Thomas. He’d say, ‘I should have been there for him.’ I never really understood what he meant.”
Stephen listened, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. “He also faced a lot of prejudice back then,” Dell continued. “Even though he worked hard, some people never gave him a chance. I think that’s why he was so determined for me to succeed—so you’d have opportunities he never did.”
Stephen felt the weight of generations settle on his shoulders. He realized that his family’s strength came from scars as much as triumphs. “Thanks, Dad,” he said. “I think I need to find out more. I owe it to Grandpa—and to you.”
Driven by a need for answers, Stephen booked a flight to Pittsburgh. The old steel mill where his grandfather had worked still stood, a rusted monument to a vanished era. When Stephen arrived, the city greeted him with gray skies and the distant clang of freight trains. He drove to the outskirts, where the Riverside Steelworks plant loomed behind a chain-link fence.
At a nearby diner, Stephen nursed a coffee and asked the barista, a man in his late sixties, if he knew anything about the mill. “You’re Dell Curry’s boy? I knew your granddad, Charlie. Good man. Quiet, but everyone respected him.” When Stephen asked about Thomas, the barista’s eyes darkened. “Thomas Carter. They were close—closer than brothers. Worked side by side. Then the accident happened. Boiler explosion. Two men trapped. Your grandfather made it out. Thomas didn’t. Charlie never forgave himself.”
Stephen sat in his car as rain drummed on the roof, thinking of the burden his grandfather had carried. The secret was not just a tragedy—it was a lesson in resilience, in carrying on for the sake of those you love.
That night, in a modest motel room overlooking the mill, Stephen reread the letter. He realized that his grandfather’s pain had become Dell’s determination, and Dell’s determination had become Stephen’s own drive. The next morning, Stephen walked to the edge of the old mill fence, closed his eyes, and whispered a prayer for Thomas Carter—a man he’d never met, but whose life had shaped his own.
Back in California, Stephen placed the letter beside his morning coffee. He felt a sense of peace and gratitude. That evening, Dell came over for dinner. Under the warm dusk, Stephen shared what he’d learned. Dell listened, eyes misty, and said, “I never knew the details. I just knew he carried something heavy. I think he tried to shield us from it.”
Stephen nodded. “He did. And now I understand why you pushed me so hard, but always with love.”
Later, after Dell had gone home and the house was quiet, Stephen sat at his desk and began to write. He wrote about the steel mill, about Thomas Carter, about the burden of guilt and the legacy of perseverance. He wrote about how his own struggles paled in comparison to the sacrifices of those who came before him.
When he finished, Stephen shared the story on social media. Messages poured in—stories of family secrets, of loss and triumph, of gratitude for the generations that came before. Stephen realized he had done more than honor his grandfather’s memory. He had opened a door for others to embrace their own stories, to see that greatness is built on the sacrifices and scars of those who came before.
As he laced up his sneakers for practice, Stephen felt a quiet strength. He wasn’t just playing for himself, but for every Curry who had come before, and for every fan who now understood that our true legacy is not just in our victories, but in the stories that make us who we are.
Steph Curry responds to 9-year-old asking to have his Curry 5 shoes in girls’ section
“I know you support girl athletes because you have two daughters and you host an all girls basketball camp,” the girl wrote.
A 9-year-old girl wrote a note to NBA star Steph Curry pointing out that his namesake sneakers appeared to be available for sale only to boys, and not only did Curry respond, he made a change.
Riley Morrison wrote in her letter, which her father posted online on Nov. 18, that she’s a big fan of the Golden State Warriors point guard, and in preparation for her basketball season wanted a pair of Under Armour Icon Curry 5 sneakers.
But when she visited the website to buy them, she didn’t see them listed under the girls’ tab.
Riley wrote. “I hope you can work with Under Armour to change this because girls want to rock the Curry 5’s too.”
“I know you support girl athletes because you have two daughters and you host an all-girls basketball camp,” Riley wrote.
On Thursday, Curry tweeted the handwritten note that he sent Riley in response. “Unfortunately we have listed smaller sizes as ‘boys’ on the website,” he acknowledged.
He said he has now worked with Under Armour to put them in the girls section too, and sure enough the shoes are now there, customizable and with instructions for women to order the sneakers one and a half size smaller than their usual size.
Curry also told Riley he was sending her a pair of Curry 5s, and said she would be among the first kids to have the Curry 6s.
The Warriors player additionally asked Riley, who live in Northern California, to make sure she can be in Oakland on International Women’s Day, March 8, for “something special in the works.”
Curry — the father of two daughters and a son — has been an outspoken advocate for women’s rights, writing earlier this year, “I want our girls to grow up knowing that there are no boundaries that can be placed on their futures, period.”
