Desmond Bane is making a case to be in the 2024 All-Star Game in Indiana, where he was born.
MEMPHIS — There is no official count of great-grandparents by the Census Bureau, AARP or any local Bingo hall. Let’s just say it’s an elite club many adults aspire to join someday, if only to give a hug and a lollipop to the next-next-next generation.
Most in this age group are winding down, assisted by walkers, cushioned by loveseats, asleep by 8 p.m. and awake before the bluebirds. Such is the life.
Of all the great-grandparents fortunate to live long enough to tell, only Bob and Fabbie Bane were responsible for raising one of the NBA’s feared 3-point shooters who’s on the verge of being a top-10 scorer.
Therefore, the NBA path for Grizzlies guard Desmond Bane becomes all the more unfathomable. Why? He attended a tiny high school in Indiana and was virtually ignored by the major colleges and most of the mids. He wound up at TCU, not exactly an NBA incubator.
Bane was groomed all along, almost since birth, by two adults nearly seven decades older, perhaps the biggest are-you-serious of them all.
The deeper you delve, however, the more you learn he arrived this far because of them, not in spite.
“Everything I’ve been able to accomplish,” he told NBA.com, “they made it possible.”
And so Thanksgiving, the family-est of holidays, becomes appropriate to explain the most uniquely successful parenting of an NBA player.
Making it in Memphis
In the summer of 2020, the pandemic raged. Whatever events weren’t shut down were zoomed. That’s how the NBA conducted its most unusual Draft. Everyone stayed home. All handshakes from the commissioner that year were virtual.
For players in that Draft, their living room became the green room. Bane sat on the sofa, next to his great-grandmother. On the TV screen, commissioner Adam Silver was down to his final duty, saying the name of the 30th pick — the last of the first round.
“I started sweating,” Bane said. “I’m not gonna lie.”
When Silver announced his name, Bane’s instant reaction was to squeeze Fabbie. Bob passed away five months earlier and therefore was there in spirit, and in picture: A framed photo of him sat strategically on the coffee table, facing the camera.
“It was the most special moment of my life,” Bane said. “Everything they did for me, they didn’t have to do. They went out of their way to take care of me. My situation was a little different than other kids, doing young stuff with their parents. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I’m super thankful.
“All the work they put in, traveling to games, making sure I had basketball shoes, all the things it takes to raise a kid, for them to get rewarded like that was special, especially where my (great) grandma was at. She didn’t live too much longer after that.
“Me getting drafted and realizing my dream was icing on the cake for them.”
Memphis, clearly, is the beneficiary. Bane gradually came to symbolize a team pinning its hopes and future on young, developing players.
He became a starter in his second year, raised his scoring average every season, and is shooting 42% from deep for his career — among the best in the league over that stretch.
Here in his fourth season, he’s perhaps the only positive for the struggling Grizzlies. It’s no stretch to say he’s worthy of All-Star consideration, and the game is in Indiana this season, which would make for a triumphant return home.
In any case, the Grizzlies aren’t having buyer’s remorse for giving the 6-foot-5 guard a five-year, $207 million extension last summer, the richest in franchise history.
While they dig themselves from the Western Conference basement due to injuries (and Ja Morant’s 25-game suspension), Bane is supplying an efficient 25.6 points a night as the new primary option.
“He’s seeing different coverages every night,” said Grizzlies coach Taylor Jenkins, “and each time he’s accepting the challenge to do whatever’s required to put our team in the best possible position to compete and win.”
Family ties reattached
Bane was born in Richmond, Indiana, to a teenage mother unprepared to raise him and his sister. They moved frequently between concerned relatives. He never knew his father. When Bane turned 2 and the situation became urgent, there was no other choice.
The grandparents took his sister.
Then Bob and Fabbie, who were a combined 130 years old at the time, told relatives: “He’s not moving anymore. He’s coming with us. And that’s it.”
An atypical family situation was created and strengthened. Bob was recently retired, so the couple had the time. As for the energy? Well, the very next year, the great-grandparents bought a plastic basketball hoop and put it in the living room.
With age comes wisdom. A future occupation was born.
There was a potential roadblock, however. Bob Bane was a baseball guy to the bone — played it, coached it in town and followed it religiously. He and Desmond bridged the age gap over baseball, the primary sport for Desmond, until it wasn’t.
“By the time Des got to high school, he was further along in basketball,” said Josh Jurgens, who coached Bane at Seton Catholic.
Jurgens immediately saw something special, a talent never seen before in the town resting at the Ohio border. Bane went to Seton Catholic, instead of the larger local public high school, at the insistence of his great-grandmother.
She thought he’d receive a better education with less distractions.
“She wanted him to have a good future,” Jurgens said. “She’s what I call an old soul and Des got a lot of that from her. He was so much more mature than most his age.”
Bane said he wasn’t a handful for his great-grandparents but raising a teenager does come with challenges.
“Any time I did something wrong, or got smart with her, she’s picking up and throwing the first thing she could find,” he said, laughing. “If I got detention at school, anything, I heard about it from both of them. They weren’t playing at all.”
He smiles at the memory and knew any discipline was for the better in the big picture. He took those lessons and advice to adulthood.
“They taught me how to treat people,” he said. “You treat the janitor the same way you treat the CEO. Told me to be a kind-hearted person and put others before myself. Work hard. You do that, you live a happy life.”
That said, his great-grandmother, who didn’t miss any high school games, could be hard on the refs.
“You certainly heard her,” Jurgens said.
Grams was feeling that W last night 👵😂 pic.twitter.com/nwzSlwiJTy
— Desmond Bane (@DBane0625) March 8, 2015
“My grandma was vocal,” Bane said. “Grandpa wasn’t vocal in the stands but he’d let us know afterward.”
The volume on and off the court didn’t get the attention of college scouts. Bane was a no-star recruit, partly because he played on Indiana’s lowest level. His graduating class was 20. TCU offered at the last minute, and he was the rare NBA first-round pick to stay in college four years.
During that time, the distance between himself and the great-grandmother who raised him made them closer.
“I talked to her every single day,” he said. “That was our relationship. She was the person I was closest to. She was the one who pushed, supported, motivated me, the ultimate caretaker, the head of our family.”
Not the norm
This linkage between geriatrics and pediatrics is rare but becoming less so because people are living longer — life expectancy is nearing 78. And there are circumstances that bring them together.
Donna Butts is the executive director of Generations United, a national resource center for “grandfamilies” — families headed by grandparents or great-grandparents. She cited how substance abuse, incarcerations and mental health issues of parents create most of these situations.
“We’re really fortunate there’s a safety net for children,” she said. “What we hear from grandparents is they feel they have purpose. I’ve heard from some who say they have to stay alive because `I’ve got to raise this child.’ They also take better care of themselves. They get out of bed.”
Butts told the story of a helper who visited one grandmother caring for grandchildren. The helper saw the grandmother leave the room for several minutes and figured she was heading to the store. She was actually lying down in the next room.
“She said she just wanted to lie there for a while,” Butts said, chuckling. “They have stamina, but they do get tired.”
In the case of Bane’s great-grandparents, Butts added: “It’s phenomenal for somebody that age to raise him. Incredible.”
A relationship lost, another rediscovered
Bob Bane died in July 2020, his wife seven months later, during Desmond’s rookie season.
“People would always say I kept them young,” Bane said. “Just running around to raise me. My (great) grandma didn’t miss any games. Special people, unlike any other grandparents. Their door was always open to whomever, whenever, however.”
That philosophy fell to their great-grandson. Bane said he has “assumed that role, being the one that brings people together, celebrates our family’s history and our lives. It’s been cool.”
One of those family members is his mother. Their relationship “wasn’t great” while growing up apart, said the son.
“She was in and out of jail for basically my whole life,” he said. “She’s been out now for four years or so. We’ve really started to grow since then. She’s moved down to Memphis, two of my sisters as well. We’re starting to build that relationship now and hopefully it continues to grow.”
The journey to the NBA is never identical for anyone, and Bane’s became rare from the beginning. His only regret is his great-grandparents aren’t around to celebrate another Thanksgiving.
And what would they say now?
“They would be super proud, happy that I’m still living with them in the back of my mind, keeping my morals strong,” he said. “They would be proud of the person I am and the things I’ve done in the community.”
* * *
Shaun Powell has covered the NBA for more than 25 years. You can e-mail him here, find his archive here and follow him on Twitter.
The views on this page do not necessarily reflect the views of the NBA, its clubs or Warner Bros. Discovery
