When I was invited to the Black Child Book Fair in Chicago at the Jordan Boys and Girls Club, I felt honored. I knew it would be special. I did not know just how powerful it would be.
Walking into the space and seeing over 1,000 students from Chicago Public Schools felt overwhelming in the best way. Rows of young readers. Curious faces. Energy everywhere. It reminded me why stories matter.
I was there to share my book, Put Me In, Coach, a story inspired by my own experience as a basketball player who suffered a concussion. But as I began speaking, I realized I was not just sharing a book. I was sharing something personal.
I told them about the game when I got hurt. How I felt fine at first. How I wanted to stay in. How I did not want to disappoint my team. And how later, the headaches came. The light sensitivity. The frustration of sitting out while everyone else played.
I told them what it felt like to love something so much and suddenly be told to stop.
When I finished reading, hands shot up everywhere.
One student raised his hand and said, “I thought you were supposed to be tough and just play through it. I didn’t know your brain could get more hurt if you don’t rest.”
That moment stayed with me.
Another student quietly shared that they had hit their head during recess and never told anyone because they did not want to miss a game. We talked about how strength is not about staying silent. It is about speaking up.
Throughout the day, I signed books, answered questions, and listened. Really listened. Students told me about football injuries, basketball falls, headaches they ignored, and pressure they felt from teammates. They were thoughtful. They were brave. They wanted to learn.
What moved me most was seeing how quickly the message connected. Brain health is not abstract for kids. It is real. It affects their sports, their schoolwork, their friendships, and their confidence.
Standing in front of over 1,000 students from Chicago Public Schools reminded me that this work is bigger than my own experience. My concussion was one moment in my life. But if sharing that moment helps even one student recognize symptoms or feel empowered to speak up, then it matters.
The Black Child Book Fair was not just an event. It was a reminder.
Stories open conversations.
Conversations change understanding.
And understanding protects futures.
Sometimes when I say the title Put Me In, Coach, students smile. But by the end of our conversation, many of them understand something deeper.
The most courageous words an athlete can say are not “Put me in.”
They are “I need help.”
And after meeting those students in Chicago, I feel more committed than ever to making sure young athletes know that protecting their brain is protecting their future.
