STEPHEN CURRY’S SON ASKS, “WHAT’S YOUR BIGGEST FEAR?” — HIS ANSWER LEFT THE WHOLE FAMILY IN TEARS
Because I’m Afraid of Losing Them, Every Moment Becomes Sacred
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It was 11:47 at night in Atherton, California, when Steph Curry sat alone on the edge of his bed, hands trembling as he tried to process what had just happened. The house was silent, the kind of silence that feels heavy, like it’s pressing down on your chest. Outside, the world slept peacefully. Inside, Steph’s mind raced, haunted by a simple question from his son—a question that had shaken the very foundation of who he was as a father.
To understand how eight innocent words from a child could break one of the strongest men in the world, we need to go back to that Tuesday evening.
Earlier that night, the Curry house was alive with the comforting chaos of family. The aroma of roasted chicken and fresh herbs—Ayesha’s specialty—still lingered in the air. Riley and Ryan, their daughters, filled the kitchen with laughter as they shared stories from school, their voices weaving together in a warm, familiar symphony. Steph savored these moments, knowing how rare and precious they were. Here, in the simple routine of a Tuesday night, he felt he had everything he’d ever dreamed of.
Canon, just eight years old, sat beside him, his eyes shining with curiosity as Steph helped him with his math homework. Suddenly, Canon looked up and asked, “Dad, can you tell me about real heroes?”
Steph smiled, sensing the start of one of those father-son talks that become treasured memories. He spoke about firefighters, doctors, teachers, and soldiers—people who changed lives through courage and kindness. Canon listened, wide-eyed, absorbing every word.
Then, Canon asked, “Are you a hero?”
The question caught Steph off guard. He was used to fans calling him an inspiration, but this was different. This was his son, asking from the heart. “I just play basketball, son,” Steph replied. “I don’t know if that makes me a hero.”
“But you inspire people,” Canon insisted. “Mom says you show people they can achieve their dreams if they work hard. Isn’t that brave?”
Steph’s heart swelled. Sometimes, it takes a child’s eyes to remind us of truths we’ve forgotten.
Later, as Steph carried Canon up to bed—a ritual since Canon was too small to climb the stairs alone—the conversation about heroes continued. Canon was fascinated by courage, and Steph explained that even heroes feel fear. “Courage isn’t not being afraid,” he said. “It’s doing the right thing, even when you’re scared.”
Canon thought for a moment, then turned to his father with a serious look. “Dad, what is your biggest fear?”
Time seemed to stop. Steph felt exposed, his defenses stripped away by his son’s innocent question. He tried to joke—“That you’ll forget to brush your teeth and all your teeth will fall out”—but Canon wasn’t fooled. “No, Dad. Really. What is your biggest fear?”
Steph promised an honest answer tomorrow, sealing it with their pinky ritual. But as he closed Canon’s door, he realized with a jolt that he’d never truly allowed himself to answer that question—not even in the privacy of his own thoughts.
That night, sleep eluded him. Lying next to Ayesha, Steph stared at the ceiling, his mind spinning. He replayed moments with his children, imagined futures where he might not be there, and felt a terror deeper than anything he’d faced on the basketball court. He wandered the house in the early hours, pausing at each child’s door—watching them sleep, marveling at their innocence, and feeling the crushing weight of love and fear.
He remembered friends lost too soon—childhood buddies, teammates, neighbors. He realized he’d always assumed he’d have decades to be a father, to guide and protect his children. But life offered no guarantees.
As dawn approached, Steph finally understood: his greatest fear wasn’t failure, or losing fame, or money. It was dying before his children grew up. It was not being there to protect them, to cheer at graduations, to walk them down the aisle, to tell them—again and again—how much he loved them.
At breakfast, the house buzzed with the usual morning routine—coffee brewing, pancakes sizzling, kids getting ready for school. But for Steph, everything felt sharper, more meaningful. Canon came downstairs, eyes bright with anticipation. “Did you think of an answer to my question?” he asked.
Steph gathered the family in the living room. The girls, sensing the gravity of the moment, put down their phones and backpacks. Ayesha watched her husband, understanding in her eyes.
Steph knelt in front of Canon, looking at each member of his family. “Last night, Canon asked me what my biggest fear is. And after thinking all night, I realized—I’m afraid of dying before you grow up. I’m afraid of not being here to protect you, to see you become the incredible people I know you’ll be, to tell you how much I love you.”
Tears filled the room—first Canon, then Riley, then Ryan, and finally Ayesha. They hugged, a tangle of arms and tears and whispered promises. Steph explained, “Because I’m afraid of losing you, every moment becomes sacred. Every laugh, every hug, every conversation is precious, because our time together isn’t infinite.”
The confessions spilled out—Canon’s fear of not being brave enough, Riley’s anxiety about living up to expectations, Ryan’s worry about not being taken seriously as the youngest, Ayesha’s guilt about balancing motherhood and her own dreams. One by one, they bared their souls, and the family grew closer in their shared vulnerability.
Steph realized then that true strength didn’t come from pretending to be fearless. It came from loving each other so fiercely that they could admit their fears and face them together. “We’re stronger together than any of us could ever be alone,” Riley said, her words echoing in the hearts of everyone present.
From that day on, the Curry family made a new tradition—weekly check-ins, where everyone could share their fears, hopes, and gratitude. They stopped trying to be perfect and started being real. They learned that every moment together was a victory over fear, a chance to love more deeply, to be more present, to cherish the fragile, beautiful gift of family.
Because I’m afraid of losing them, every moment becomes sacred. And in that sacredness, the Curry family found not just courage, but the truest kind of love.
Let me know if you’d like this story even shorter, more dramatic, or focused on a particular character or theme!
