The Stroke of Grace: Trauma, Triumph and Testimony of Former Nba Player Juaquin Hawkins

By Warren G. Landrum Jr. and Juaquin J. Hawkins

The Stroke of Grace was written to provide an up-close and personal look into the life of one of the most unique young men I have ever had the pleasure of getting to know. I believe, as others do, that
perseverance definitely describes Juaquin Hawkins, who overcame unique obstacles that have inspired, and are still inspiring, many people. When you combine the different challenges he overcame, with the strong determination he displayed-anchored in a deep-rooted spirituality passed down to him from his Grandma Tweet-you have the making of a story that is both inspirational and motivational.

This book is written in a format that is slightly different from most autobiographies. We wanted you to be the proverbial fly on the wall during some of these crucial moments in his life.

Juaquins journey includes trauma, triumphs, and testimony that describe overcoming challenges to making it to the top of his profession in the National Basketball Association (NBA) and beyond.
Although reaching the NBA was satisfying and significant to him, the work that Juaquin has done post-NBA and post-stroke will likely have a more lasting impact and leave an enduring legacy as he constantly strives to satisfy his God-given plan and purpose.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499018950

Warren G. Landrum Jr.

Juaquin Hawkins has played professional basketball for 14 years. He has played in six different countries and became the second oldest rookie in the NBA with the Houston Rockets in 2003. In 2008 as he continued his basketball career in Australia he would have a stroke that would change his life forever. Stroke of Grace is the testimony of his life and reminds us that we all have the potential to overcome challenges that are a part of life.

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Juaquin Hawkins.

Library of Congress Control Number:     2014908906

ISBN:                  Hardcover                        978-1-4990-1898-1

                            Softcover                          978-1-4990-1899-8

                            eBook                               978-1-4990-1895-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

*Please note that certain characters were added to be a part of the experiences that were a part of my neighborhood. Certain conversations between characters were recounted to the best of my recollection. JH.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 06/11/2014

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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601806

Contents

Foreword by NBA Coach Scotty Brooks

Introduction from Coauthor

Introduction from Juaquin

The Story Begins

In the Blink of an Eye

My Beginnings

Poignant Rejection

My Inspiration

A Seed of Hope

The Truth from Grandma

My Days Down Under

High School… Finally!

Immortality Meets Mortality

A Saving Grace

The Stroke

Perception Meets Reality

The Championship!

Senior-Year Blues

Entering College

Post diagnosis

Rejuvenated

My Magic Moment

First NBA Experience

My First Gig

Enlightenment from China

Sweet Georgia Brown

The Reality of a Professional Basketball Player Playing Overseas

My Time Is Now

NBA Lifestyle

First Time Arriving in Australia

The Final Chapters

The Comeback

Farewell

Real Life Begins

Conclusion

Sog Part 2

A Final Note From The Hawk

Juaquin Hawkins: Highlights of His Journey

Appendices

Appendix A: Stroke Warning Signs

Appendix B: Stroke Prevention Measures from The Hip-Hop Doc

Appendix C: Life after Stroke

References

Epilogue

Juaquin’s Acknowledgments and Thank You!

In Memoriam

This book is dedicated to my three little girls, Skyy, Emya, and Kelis. This summarizes many of the sacrifices I made in my life that prepared me to be the father I never had. All three of you complete me, and every day of your lives I want you to know that I am here, especially in spirit. You must trust that everything will be okay even when you are experiencing your most difficult life challenges. Hopefully, as you become older, you will understand the significance of my life and know that you three motivated me to live and move forward. Even when I am no longer here, I pray that you and others remain strong no matter what. Always remember that we are all stronger than we think. Your Daddy will always be in your heart with love for all eternity.

Love and Blessings,

Your Daddy

Foreword

Perseverance is defined as steady persistence in a course of action, a purpose especially in spite of difficulties, obstacles, or discouragement. They should just scrap that definition from the dictionary and put a picture of Juaquin Hawk Hawkins-this man is perseverance.

I remember seeing Hawk back in 2001 when I was the head coach of the Southern California Surf of the ABA. We held an open tryout to try and recruit some local talent.

After spending the afternoon with Juaquin, I realized this kid from Lynwood High School was a special kid. Hawk was tough, he was scrappy, loved to play defense, and above all, had more heart than any player in that gym.

Hawk played in Taiwan, China, Philippines, Japan, Australia, and nearly every league in the United States and don’t forget he even toured with the Harlem Globetrotters. One thing remained: Hawk never gave up on the dream of playing in the NBA. One of my best days as a coach was when Hawk made the 2002-03 Houston Rockets squad as a twenty-nine-year-old rookie. I remember the fight I had trying to make it into the league, but it was a small anthill compared to Juaquin’s mountain. Being the final cut at training camp is devastating. It’s enough to crush dreams for most, but Hawk was cut, time and time again, and kept on coming back for more. The belief that he had in himself remained at a high level after every setback.

I would like to thank Hawk for being an inspiration to me and countless player’s chasing the NBA dream.

Scott Brooks

Head Basketball Coach

Oklahoma City Thunder

National Basketball Association (NBA)

Introduction from Coauthor

The Stroke of Grace was written to provide an up-close and personal look into the life of one of the most unique young men I have ever had the pleasure of getting to know. I believe, as others do, that perseverance definitely describes Juaquin Hawkins, who overcame unique obstacles that have inspired, and are still inspiring, many people. When you combine the different challenges he overcame, with the strong determination he displayed-anchored in a deep-rooted spirituality passed down to him from his Grandma Tweet-you have the making of a story that is both inspirational and motivational.

This book is written in a format that is slightly different from most autobiographies. We wanted you to be the proverbial ‘fly on the wall’ during some of these crucial moments in his life.

Juaquin’s journey includes trauma, triumphs, and testimony that describe overcoming challenges to making it to the top of his profession in the National Basketball Association (NBA) and beyond. Although reaching the NBA was satisfying and significant to him, the work that Juaquin has done post-NBA and post-stroke will likely have a more lasting impact and leave an enduring legacy as he constantly strives to satisfy his God-given plan and purpose.

Warren G. Landrum, Jr.

Cowriter The Stroke of Grace

Author The Heart & Soul of a Black Man

and Let’s Go Home to Indiana Harbor

Introduction from Juaquin

There are approximately 351 Division 1 colleges in the USA, not counting D-2 or D-3 schools. Arguably, there is a minimum of two to three seniors per team every year that become eligible for the NBA following their senior season. That means approximately 1,053 individuals are fighting for a spot to be one of the 300-400 players to play in the NBA in one season. With most players in the league being veteran players, that number, 300-400, is cut down considerably because there may be only an average of two rookies on an NBA team out of thirty teams. Roughly, sixty rookies will be on an NBA team per season, in comparison to the thousands whose dreams are cut short. It takes a special type of player to be selected or even have a chance to be a part of this type of history. It could be said for some players that luck has a lot to do with it if their talent level didn’t warrant the exposure of NBA interest. In my opinion, it’s a combination of having the right talent, displaying it at the right time, being in the right place, knowing the right people, and having a higher power provide the right opportunity. This extraordinary alignment is rare and most desired by many. Preparation, destiny, and ability are just a few factors that will unlock the door into this prestigious league called the National Basketball Association. The NBA has the highest level of competition known to man.

Although I played fifteen years of professional basketball, including a brief period in the NBA, I don’t consider myself as a well-known player. Even though part of my story was featured on a national network (OWN) respectfully, I am in no way a celebrity. I am just an individual who followed my dreams and tried to live an honorable life. Through my journey, I have experienced many disappointments and, like others, many closed doors. In some ways, I may be just like you-living life with a certain purpose or still looking for a purpose.

This book is not a memoir of philosophies. The purpose in writing this book initially evolved as part of my rehabilitation from suffering a stroke at thirty-four years old. Upon returning from my weeklong hospital stay, I was desperately trying to retain, reconnect, and recover all these fleeting snapshots of who I was. This was my journal. It was by far the beginning of the most difficult time in my life. I went from being a professional basketball player one moment to being physically and mentally impaired. But physically you could not tell just by looking at me. This process of writing was to ignite my dispirited mind. As a result of my efforts, I received some clarity and peace and a better sense of my purpose. As I sifted through the rubble of my past life, my journey unearthed a massive wound of frustrations and hurt. I had to come to terms with the fact that I was no longer a professional athlete. My body was disabled, and my mind was shattered. I was frozen in a place of no return. Fear locked my ability to move toward the future. All I had were memories to reflect upon in hopes of bridging my past to the present to secure my future. Through my process, it is my hope that my story of perseverance will benefit others. With this in mind, my writing allowed my fears to subside enough for my faith to surmount. By writing my story, I also envisioned my own children having something tangible they could hold on to as they face obstacles in their lives. I live my life to honor them.

I am a spiritual individual who will always live my life seeking my higher purpose and working to be closer to my Heavenly Father. May the story about my life serve as a blueprint of how to endure and overcome. We are all teachers through our experiences. Even your story, whatever it may be, can compel others to seek the purpose for their transitional pain. Utilize your own experiences to make a positive impact that can last for eternity.

JH

The Story Begins

Chapter 1

In the Blink of an Eye

9:15 am, New Year’s Day, 2008

THUMP-THUMP, THUMP-THUMP, THUMP-THUMP was all I could hear and feel as my heart lifted and fell, lifted and fell, lifted and fell. It pounded unmercifully as though it wanted to escape the boundaries of my chest, pounding rapidly again and again as I lay there on that cold, hard bedroom floor of our team’s hotel in this remote outpost on this big island called Australia-halfway round the world.

What’s happening to me? I thought. What am I doing down here?

One second I’m a professional athlete, looking forward, again, to seeing the several thousands of fans cheering for and against my team. Then the next second, I can’t feel certain limbs on the right side of my body. I remembered staring at that strange distorted face in the mirror with that hideous droopy grin staring right back at me. A few more minutes after that, it felt like someone just cut off my entire right side and gravity seems to want my face to collide with the floor instantly! And I could not stop it. I’m now down on the floor, not remembering how I got here. All I know is that my legs are not working.

Is this real? What did I just see in the mirror? . . . Why can’t I move my legs? . . . Am I paralyzed? Am I dying? As I struggled to stand up, I started reeling and rolling on the floor as I realized that indeed my right arm and right leg were not going with the program-they were just hanging like huge heavy rusty chains attached but detached, visible but not obedient. All at once, as the perspiration settled on my top lip, forehead, and other parts of my body, I struggled to move on the floor. A mosaic of memories, visions, voices, and scenes from the past filled my head to the point of bursting. I think something is really wrong, I thought. I really wish my mom was here . . . Kim, the kids, anybody! Trying to be strong, I was scared as hell. My mind was racing all over the place-forward, sideways, and backward, back to the beginning.

Chapter 2

My Beginnings

The city of Watts, Compton, or Lynwood was not Beverly Hills 90210 when I came into existence in July of 1973. We lived on 111th Drive, right down the street from Watts in California. The city of Watts was known all over America and made infamous by the riots in 1965. The Nickerson Gardens projects over on East 114th Street was just a stone’s throw away from my birthplace. It was one of the most dangerous areas in Watts. There was always some kind of fighting going on-whether it was gang members versus non-gang members, or Hispanics versus Blacks, or Samoans versus Hispanics, or Blacks versus Whites. Our proximity to this gang-infested, high-crime crack haven was why my Grandma Tweet worked so hard to get us out of there and provide a better opportunity for her family. Although it was hard on her being a single parent with four grown or almost-grown kids still living with her, she was very determined and demanding. Having only a tenth-grade education made it all the more difficult. It severely limited her job opportunities. But in 1973, something happened that made her all the more determined to get out. I popped out! Her first grandchild.

Image23843.PNG

Juaquin Juan Hawkins

By the time my first birthday came around, Grandma Tweet’s perseverance, sweat, and hard work paid off and she was able to move us out of an extremely small two-bedroom, one-bath home we all shared and into a two-bedroom house with a den, garden, and a pool over on Magnolia Boulevard in Lynwood, California. Now don’t get it twisted. Just because we had a pool didn’t mean we were in the suburbs. Although it was a good step up, this house was right around the corner from Long Beach Boulevard. Long Beach Boulevard was known to be the hangout of the local prostitutes and their johns. If you went down Magnolia in the other direction, you would run into the territory of some of the most notorious Hispanic gangs that were prevalent in the area back then. With the Staple Singers hit song Let’s Do It Again jamming through my neighborhood in the mid-seventies, my family and I were right in the middle of all that action.

My Uncle Charles, was my grandma’s eldest child, who slept on the den floor. My uncles Dale and Titus who were a little younger and just a couple years apart, rotated nights on the sofa when they were not with their girlfriends. My Mom, sister, and I shared a bedroom while Grandma Tweet had the other one. She had the most comfortable bed, and I don’t mind telling you that I used to ask to sleep in her bed till I was around fourteen because it was so comfortable!

Our mornings in the bathroom were like rush-hour traffic because it seemed like all of us needed to use it at the same time. Even though I loved them dearly, initially I have to admit that I was glad when my uncles left home to either join the Army or live with their spouse. We finally had some elbow room in the bathroom.

The gangs in our neighborhood were flourishing so much and were so bad back then that you had to be careful not to wear the wrong-colored shoelaces or look remotely different when walking down the street. Fear of getting mugged, beaten, stabbed, or shot at was an everyday reality check. Since we were in the middle of all this chaos, I was fortunate that I did not have to venture more than a couple of doors down to be able to hang out with my best friend, Cedric Blanks. But even with all that going on around Magnolia Street, it was still a step up from 111th Drive, according to stories I heard my Mom and her brothers were talking about when I was a kid. So they were very thankful to Grandma Tweet for rescuing us. My Mom was the most thankful of all since she did not want to have to raise a child in that hellhole over on 111th. The Johnson Clan thought we were truly like The Jeffersons TV show, as we were Movin’ on Up!

My mother, Gwendolyn Faye Johnson, was born in 1954 and was the second of my Grandma Tweet’s four children. She was the only girl. Mom was a tall, beautiful woman, brown-skinned, standing at six feet one inch at the time I was born, and grew another inch afterward. That is where I got my height. Everyone said she just spat me out with my high cheekbones and tight eyes, just like hers.

Mom would say that during my childhood, she was not very strict with me and my little sister. But since my sister and I were on the receiving end of all those consequences from our antics, let’s just say that we remember differently. We received butt whuppings for a little bit of everything that we did wrong. One of the main things that Mom hated was for us to lie to her. Anytime I did something wrong or upset her in any capacity, she would be quick to tell me to go get a belt or a tree branch that she would use as a switch. She was definitely old-school in raising my sister and me. There was never a time-out in our house growing up, only good old-fashioned butt whuppings. I managed to get more than my fair share of them from her and Grandma Tweet, until I got my last one when I was about thirteen years old. I decided that was enough for me.

On that particular occasion, I was told by my mom to do something pretty simple-take a bath and get ready for bed. Now I’m sure you’re probably thinking, how hard can that be? Well, at thirteen, I had this crazy notion that I could outthink my mom. But I was about to be proven wrong! She had already told me about five or six times to go take a bath and get ready for bed, but I was just worn out and tired from playing ball all day. I was not in the mood to run the bathwater, take off my clothes, sit in the water, and clean myself for thirty minutes. The bottom line was that I just wanted to get in my bed and go to sleep.

Well, after my mom threatened to whup my butt if I didn’t get in the tub, I stormed to the bathroom exhausted and frustrated. As I started to run the water, it seemed as though the energy required to turn the nozzle made me even more tired. So as I ran the water and sat on the toilet seat waiting for the tub to fill, I started dozing off. I took a little power nap right there on the toilet. I leaned over to get more comfortable by crossing my arms, elbows resting on my knees, and my forehead was comfortable enough to rest on my arms serving as a pillow. I drifted off to sleep seemingly instantly. Just to close my eyes for a minute was satisfying. All of a sudden, I was awakened by a knocking on the door and I popped my head up and saw that the water was inches away from the top of the tub, about to spill over to the floor. I jumped up and turned the water off just as the first drop was about to spill on the floor.

Juaquin, hurry up! I need a bath too, my mom said on the other side of the door.

All I could think to say was Okay, I’m getting out of the tub now.

To this day, I still can’t figure out why I said that. What I did next was just not a smart move at all. Still being extremely tired, I decided to let the water completely out of the tub, put on my bedtime clothes, and walk out like I had just taken the best bath ever. Well, mother’s intuition must have been in high effect because when my mom looked at me, it was as if I knew that she knew something was not right. Thinking back on it now, maybe it was a giveaway for her to walk in the bathroom and not see the dirt ring around the inside of the tub that I usually would leave whenever I finished taking a bath. Boy, was I busted!

Juaquin, did you take a bath? It was as though she was just testing to see if I would keep up the lie.

So of course, I said, Yes. As I smiled at her, rubbing the towel over my head like I had just washed my hair really good, she just said, Oh okay. Stay here…

She calmly walked into the bedroom. I had no idea what she was up to (although I probably should have), but then as she approached me, I saw that Do you take me for a fool look on her face and saw the belt in her left hand. The mean look on her face was a perfect contrast to what I thought I could get away with. She started whipping me like I had stolen something. With every blow, she would say a word or two: SO… YOU… JUST… GOING… to… LIE… to me in my face, huh!

At thirteen years old, I was already about the same height as she was at six feet two, but it seemed like with each blow, I was shrinking smaller and smaller. And the blows were coming from everywhere it seemed, landing all over my body-first to the butt, then another to my leg, and so on. All I could do was squirm on the floor like a fish out of water and scream at the top of my lungs!

She spanked me all the way back to the tub where I had to turn the water on again and refill it. She was calling me every name in the book without cursing. I have never heard my mom curse to this day, but the tone of her voice, the mean look on her face, and the belt in her hand was enough to make me think twice about doing something wrong again. Then she said something that really took the wind out of my sails.

See if you play any ball anytime soon-lying to me! No more TV or basketball till I say so!

After delivering her last blow to my thigh, I looked up while I was still on the bathroom floor and saw my five-year-old sister snickering and laughing at me. This was her routine whenever I got into trouble. I’m sure it must have been very entertaining for her. All I could think was that this could have been avoided if I just did what I was told. This would be the last time I would ever make my mom mad or upset enough to do something like this to me again. I guess I must have started growing up right then because I was wondering why I would lie and disrespect this woman who was always working so hard. As a single mom, she worked hard to provide for my sister and me. Thinking about this made me feel worse than the whupping. Just as I promised myself at the moment, I never gave her reason to whup me again.

My desire to make my mom happy was railroaded a few years later when she was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma, a form of cancer. I just remember walking past the kitchen seeing my mom crying on my grandmother’s shoulders. As I listened behind the door, I heard her tell my grandmother not to tell me because she knew I would be concerned. Not knowing what that was, I got a dictionary to read what it was. I was terrified for my mom. Between that, my last whupping, and the fact my mom never mentioned my dad, my only mission in life became even more apparent: never make my mom or grandma upset through my actions. They both had been through a lot and were still going through a lot. They didn’t need me to bring more trouble to our household.

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Juaquin, Grandma Tweet, and Mom

Although Mama was very strict, she was a very loving and supportive mother. She loved to dress me and kept my Afro looking neat. She did not have much money so she would always shop to get my clothes at bargain stores, such as Zoody’s, Newberry, or the Compton Swamp Meet. Obviously the clothes were not branded names, but I still thought they were pretty cool.

She had very simple rules for me. The one that I remember most was if I didn’t do well in school or got in any trouble at all, not only would she whup my butt, but I could not also play any sports. No excuses! That was enough to scare me straight. In school, I had to have more Bs than Cs and more As than Bs. That’s how she judged whether or not I was succeeding in school. Unfortunately, my mom and my grandmother were not the best students. Many times, I had to figure out my homework by myself or ask my uncle Charles for help if he was around. I also had to be in the house before the streetlights came on, which was annoying especially when having fun with friends. There were other times it seemed like she made me come in the house midafternoon for some reason. I wondered if she was doing this to protect me from the sun since I was already a dark-skinned boy, but I mostly think it was just her being overprotective. She had a lot to worry about in our neighborhood.

Mom had me when she was eighteen. As a result of this, when I was a kid, she was still in her prime partying days. She used to go out a lot because she loved to dance. One of the things that used to really upset me and my sister was when she went out to parties. I wasn’t sure whether she was trying to find us a father or if she just loved to dance, but I did not like it because we had to go to a babysitter. It wasn’t like my mom tried to put us off on someone else; she just wanted to enjoy herself from time to time. We just had a babysitter more than we liked. My grandmother also did not like her going out and staying out all night long at these parties either. That’s why several times she refused to keep us during my mom’s outings. Unfortunately for us, that meant Mom would drop me and my sister off at one of our relatives or our godmother’s house to spend the night. Now that was always interesting.

At my godmother’s house, it was like we were in a different world. She used to always make these gigantic burritos that I loved. Her house was cool to go to during the day because I could play basketball against my god brother, Reggie. I did not have a court at home yet so going over to his house meant that I would have another chance to play the game that I enjoyed the more I played. He was a couple of years older than me, and though we were the same height, I couldn’t understand why I could never beat him. He would always barely win our one-on-one games, and his trash-talking made me even more frustrated. Overall, playing against him made me even more determined to get better because I thought he was the best player that I could never beat.

When nighttime came, things became interesting. By interesting, I mean scary. This was a big two-story three-bedroom house in the middle of LA that always seemed to