In defense of Tee Morant --Ja's father

Get the Point!

Earlier this week, celebrated sports journalist Stephen A. Smith weighed in on recent news that Memphis Grizzlies star guard Ja Morant is under multiple investigations by law enforcement and the NBA for possessing or brandishing a firearm.

Smith, known for giving his unfiltered opinions, addressed Tee Morant, Ja's father, by saying: “Now in the case of pops, only thing, I’m not throwing any shade on somebody’s parent or anything like that, I’m simply trying to highlight and illuminate to Tee Morant the importance of him being a dad. You raised him. You helped get him to this point. Make sure that you don’t let anybody get in the way of what he is on the verge of accomplishing. Make sure you do your part to protect him instead of joining in to have a good time like you one of his boys. You’re not one of his boys. You’re his dad.”

Tee (left) and Ja Morant

Smith's opinion drew lots of counter and supporting opinions on social media, with the bulk of the supporting ones that I’ve read coming from those who believe that Tee Morant, a constant presence at his son's games and in his life, should "do" or "say" more to ensure that his multi-millionaire son doesn't squander his fortune and his talents. 

To me, while it seems evident that young Ja Morant has lots of maturing to do, as I do not know the Morants personally, I will refrain from assuming that Daddy Morant hasn't tried his best to guide his son along the straight and narrow path. There are already too many critics who are quick to assume the worst about Black fathers in the world, and as a proud Black father who was once a proud Black son, I won't join the critics absent more concrete evidence of relative absenteeism by Tee Morant. 

But on that last point, my having been a proud Black son, I admit that such doesn't mean that I was always a compliant Black son—even when I was in my 20’s and beginning my own career. 

When I graduated from law school in the late 90's, I remember a very tense moment that I had with my father, Charles Sr., when he tried to chastise me in front of all of my Hobbs cousins at my Aunt Michelle's funeral in Miami. 

Picture of Dad (back) and me on my graduation day from the University of Florida Levin College of Law…

You see, I had been sworn in as an assistant state attorney only a few weeks earlier, and when several of my cousins and our girlfriends decided to leave the funeral repast to go to a nearby bowling alley to relax, as we waded through the masses of mourners at my grandmother's house, Dad shouted out "Boy, where are y'all going." When I replied that we were going bowling, Dad, talking to me like I was 16-years-old and not 26, yelled "you need to stay your ass right here!" Defiantly, I shouted back in angry Ebonics, "I'm a grown ass man, who is you talking to?" My comment must have stunned him because he paused, and as I turned to walk towards the car, he said "alright, Mr. Prosecutor, can't nobody tell you a damn thing;" I mumbled "whatever" to myself and drove off with my people. 

Thankfully, no incident occurred at all at the bowling alley, none except me routinely knocking down pins and having a good time in the midst of our family's collective mourning; Dad never said another word to me about it.

Less than a year later, one of those same cousins, Ryan, who was a friend and member of rapper Trick Daddy's entourage known as "Tata Head," called me during FAMU's Homecoming weekend and asked if I could take them to get some new rims for their cars. 

Ryan Hobbs (passenger seat) and Trick Daddy in “Shut Up” circa ‘99.

As I was not working that day, I did and essentially served as a chauffeur; to be honest, I enjoyed cruising through Tallahassee in their Cadillac Escalade talking trash while the music blasted loudly. At some point, one of their friends that was in the backseat asked me to take take him by an apartment on the Southside of the city and when we parked, two other guys came up to the passenger side door and were handed a duffle bag. One of them unzipped it, and from the driver's seat I could clearly see two tightly packaged "bricks" of what appeared to be cocaine. My heart immediately started racing, my hands started sweating, and while I likely appeared cool to my cousin and all in the truck, I was praying in my head, "Lord, please just let me avoid getting pulled over by the police" as I was wondering what else may have been in the back of that SUV?

I made it home safely, but the cold sweat lasted for a LONG time that day because I realized, at 26, that when my dad flexed on me after the funeral earlier that year, that he did so with the wisdom of a 58-year-old man who had served as a combat sentry dog MP in Vietnam—and as a civilian police chief at FAMU. I realized that had the police pulled me in the Cadillac that day for an improper lane change or, the usual reason, driving while Black with a car load of other young Black males, that my lack of knowing that cocaine (or a cocaine looking substance) was in that SUV wouldn't have prevented me from being arrested on the spot—and it would have cost me my job as a prosecutor only months after being hired. 

Now, I didn't do it immediately, but eventually I told Dad about that FAMU Homecoming weekend and while I expected to hear him say, "See, I told your hard headed ass about watching who you associate with," he actually got quite philosophical on me. With a look of, dare I say, compassion, Dad said, "Son, you share my name, but everything that you do, good or bad, will be on you for the rest of your life—not Dad—because I've lived my life." He concluded, "I do hope that you've learned your lesson, because God smiled on you that day..."

With Dad on the front steps of our old home about a month after my harrowing Homecoming experience; Dad died six months later of prostate cancer. He was 59…

Indeed, I learned...

Which is what I truly hope happens for Ja Morant, a very talented baller who, lest we forget, is still a very young and wealthy man living in an era in which others his age feel the need to arm themselves for legitimate reasons, like protection, and illegitimate ones, like flexing for social media attention. Still, in the end analysis, whatever happens from this point forward is on Ja Morant—not his father, Tee Morant.