Dolores Jordan was not a woman easily shaken. At eighty-three, she ran her home in Charlotte with the same discipline she’d raised her five children, the same gentle strength that had steadied the Jordan family through triumph and tragedy. But on a bright April morning, as she dusted her attic, a hidden wooden box changed everything.
The box was small, unmarked, and tucked behind an old suitcase. Dolores’s hands trembled as she opened it, releasing the scent of faded paper and memories. Inside, she found a bundle of yellowed newspaper clippings, a battered baseball card, and a sealed envelope. On the envelope, in her own handwriting, was a single word: “Michael.”
Dolores sat down on an old trunk, the letter heavy in her hands. Thirty years ago, she’d written it but never delivered it. The secret inside had shaped her life and Michael’s, though he’d never known. Now, as her family’s matriarch and her son’s biggest fan, she knew it was time.
She called Michael, who answered with his usual warmth. “Hey Mom, what’s up?”
“Michael,” she said, her voice quivering. “I need you to come home. There’s something important we need to talk about.”
He sensed her seriousness immediately. “I’ll be there tomorrow, Mom. Don’t worry about dinner—I’ll bring something.”
She smiled. “Let me cook for you one more time.”
That night, Dolores barely slept. She replayed every moment she’d almost told Michael the truth: after his first high school game-winning shot, the day he was drafted by the Bulls, the night he won his first NBA championship, and the morning his father, James Senior, was murdered. Each time, she’d lost her nerve, afraid to damage the bond between Michael and the man who’d raised him.
The next afternoon, Michael arrived, tall and confident, but always her boy. He hugged her, complimented her cooking, and filled the house with laughter. But after dinner, when the plates were cleared, Dolores led him to the living room and placed the wooden box between them.
“Mom, what’s this?” Michael asked, brow furrowed.
Dolores took a deep breath. “Something I should have shown you long ago.” She handed him the envelope and the baseball card. “But first, let me tell you a story.”
She spoke of Wilmington, 1961, before she met James. She’d fallen in love with a young baseball player named Walter Griffin. He was tall, with hands as big as Michael’s, and a dream to play in the majors. When Walter was injured and left baseball, Dolores was already pregnant. James, a kind and steady man, offered to marry her and raise her child as his own—on the condition that Walter stayed away.
Michael listened silently, his face a mask of confusion and pain. “Are you saying…?”
Dolores nodded, tears in her eyes. “James was your father in every way that matters. But by blood, your father is Walter Griffin.”
Michael stood up, pacing the room. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“I was afraid,” Dolores admitted. “Afraid it would change how you saw James, how you saw yourself. Especially after James died. You were so close.”
Michael sat down, his hands shaking as he opened the letter. Inside, Dolores had written everything she’d wanted to say for thirty years: about Walter, about James’s love and sacrifice, about her pride in Michael, no matter what.
He read in silence, the room heavy with unspoken words. When he finished, he looked up, tears glistening in his eyes. “All those years I thought baseball was just a way to honor Dad. But it was in my blood.”
Dolores nodded. “You have Walter’s hands, his jump. But your heart, your kindness, your drive—those came from James, and from me.”
Michael smiled through his tears. “You know, Mom, I always felt a little different. Like there was something I couldn’t explain. Now I understand.”
He picked up the baseball card, studying the young man’s face. “Is he still alive?”
“Yes,” Dolores said. “He’s a coach in Arizona. He’s followed your career all these years. He’s very proud of you.”
Michael was quiet for a long moment. “I need to meet him.”
The next day, Michael called Walter. The conversation was awkward at first—two men, strangers but bound by blood, searching for words. But as they spoke, Michael felt a connection, a sense of completion he hadn’t known he was missing.
A week later, Walter flew to Charlotte. When Michael opened the door, it was like looking in a mirror—older, grayer, but the same hands, the same eyes. They embraced, both men crying, Dolores watching with relief and hope.
They spent hours talking, sharing stories, filling in the gaps of three decades. Walter apologized for staying away. Michael forgave him, grateful for the chance to know the man who’d given him life.
When Walter returned to Arizona, Michael felt lighter. The secret that had weighed on his family for so long was gone, replaced by understanding, forgiveness, and a deeper sense of self.
Dolores hugged her son tightly. “I’m sorry I kept this from you.”
Michael smiled. “You did what you thought was best. And you gave me two fathers to be proud of.”
That night, as Dolores watched Michael laugh with his children, she felt peace for the first time in years. The truth had set them free, and love—always love—had brought them home.
“Keep Your Nose Clean”: Mother Deloris, Who Didn’t Let Michael Jordan Attend His Brother’s Party, Didn’t Say Goodbye at the End of Her Daily Calls with MJ
Deloris Jordan once admitted that when her son Michael Jordan missed a certain family event she was happy. The party he missed was her eldest son, Ronnie Jordan’s retirement reception. For 31 years, Ronnie had dedicated his life to serving in the military. Hence, this party was a special moment of celebration for him. Deloris wanted her eldest son to have his moment. She once said, “Michael called and said his car broke down and I secretly thought, ‘Good, Ronnie will have the acknowledgment and attention he deserves.” No one blamed Jordan, but with the fame around him, it was natural for him to steal someone’s thunder. However, with this fame, came the aspect of being watched all the time. Hence, the reminder to ‘Keep your nose clean’.
To be akin to Michael Jordan is something many people strive for. This means they are constantly looking up to him and simultaneously studying each one of his moves. On the other hand, some people, especially reporters, always want to catch him at a vulnerable or weak position because, as the six-time champion puts it, negative news sells. With that said, His Airness parents helped him deal with the pressure of living in the limelight.
Michael Jordan on the lessons he learned from his mom and dad
Jordan revealed during a 2017 Uncut Interview with Marvin Shanken of Cigar Aficionado that he and his mother talk on call every day and at the end of each conversation, she tells him, “Keep your nose clean”. This has been a practice for years. Instead of ending the call with a ‘goodbye’, Deloris would always end the conversation with the words above. This has helped the billionaire stay grounded and realize that people are scrutinizing him all the time.
Following this, the five-time MVP spoke about a lesson his father taught him. It revolved around taking a moment and asking the question “what if” before making a move. This “what if” helps Jordan “deal with the consequences” of the decision he makes. He said, “You think about the consequences pro or con, you make the right decisions, that you feel is the right decision.”
Despite being extremely careful with each resolve of his, Jordan doesn’t stop himself from living life to the fullest. He is simply thoughtful and mindful. The 14-time NBA All-Star continued to acknowledge the fact that not everyone will agree with the decisions he has made. But as long as he has looked into the ‘what if’ and is happy with his choice, that is all that matters at the end of the day.
