published on May 26, 2024 in celeb

How Bobby Portis surprised his mother and fulfilled a lifelong dream

The grey taxicab with green letters nearly spoiled the surprise. Of all the cars that lined the stretched driveway and spilled onto the street outside the two-story brick house on Ponca Drive, none were more conspicuous.

Tina Edwards knew that cab — “Ken’s Cab” — as the company for which her father, Otis Hicks, works. Her radar went off, and, just like that, an unbelievably well-kept secret was on the brink of unraveling.

Bobby Portis had spent years dreaming of this Mother’s Day. He had spent months preparing for it and weeks plotting how to make it perfect. And here was his grandpa inadvertently almost blowing it up, all because of his unmistakable cab.

Portis had played it almost perfectly to that point. The previous Thursday, over pedicures, he invited his mom to a charity event for mothers hosted by the University of Arkansas, his alma mater. Edwards agreed, and Portis told her he’d pick her up at 3. He told his three younger brothers the exact same story.

None of them had a clue what was coming.

When they piled into Portis’ black Yukon Denali — mom in front, brothers in the back — they figured they were headed to Fayetteville. Portis shuttled them out of their Little Rock neighborhood, snaking them past all the usual sights on all the usual streets. Before merging onto Interstate 430, Portis looked at each of them and told them he loved them. He told them how much they meant to him.

Twelve miles north along Interstate 430, Portis slowed the SUV, exiting onto Maumelle Blvd. Portis changed the music. He had a legendary Boyz II Men’s hit, “A Song for Mama,” queued up.

“I instantly started crying,” Edwards said. “I’ll never forget it.”

Portis grabbed his mother’s hand and held it tight. He and his brothers sang the words to her as she turned to look out of the window. She didn’t want her sons to see her crying.

The five-minute song barely finished before they reached their true destination, thanks in part to Portis’ only misstep — growing so excited he began driving noticeably fast as he neared closer. When he pulled up to the house at the end of the cul-de-sac and pulled into the open spot at the end of the elongated driveway, Portis and his brothers got out. Edwards stayed in. She had to fix her face.

When she finally exited, Edwards saw her dad’s cab. She reasoned they must have been arriving at a barbecue. All that mattered was she was with all four of her boys. That’s all Edwards ever wants on Mother’s Day.

This year, Edwards got that and a whole lot more.

“We walk up to the house,” Edwards said, “open the door, and everybody says, ‘Surprise!’”

Standing at the entrance, Portis turned to the right of the door and picked up a jewelry box. He handed it to his mother. Inside was the key to the house.

Before she could open the box, Edwards fell into Portis’ arms. And just like that, her face was wet all over again.

“I’m literally thinking we’re just going to a Mother’s Day thing,” Edwards said. “I never would have dreamed I was coming home.”

Portis had pictured it for years. His dream was to get his mom her dream home. Many athletes talk about it. Portis, against immeasurable odds and at the tender age of 23, went out and did it.

“I felt like a great son in that moment,” Portis said. “I felt like I accomplished what I needed to accomplish for my mom and for my little brothers.”

Portis handpicked the house based on details he had always heard his mother daydream about. He knew the five-bedroom house was perfect the moment he saw it.

He loved that it backed up to an empty lot, providing the privacy she always coveted. He loved that its 4,300 square feet would double the size of the family’s last house, giving her the space she always pictured her sons having whenever their friends came over. And best of all, he loved that bedrooms were split between levels, because he knew she always wanted to sleep on a separate level from her boys.

The pool in the back, just off the spacious patio with the grill Portis had installed, merely put this Bull in the bonus.

“I wanted a house I felt like I knew my mom would love,” Portis said. “I didn’t just want to buy a house just to say I bought a house for my mom. It really had to mean something to me personally.”

The house had to mean something because Edwards meant so much. This was Portis’ way of paying her back.

Portis didn’t just purchase the home. He paid for it to be fully furnished. Everything was new. All that needed to be transferred from the old house was clothes, pictures and any other valued possessions.

“I was totally amazed and outdone,” said Edwards, who also got the hardwood floors of her dreams.

“The entire house was identical to everything I wanted in a house. It’s only one thing I would change in this house and that would be a gas stove instead of electric. That’s what I grew up on. I grew up on gas.”

It’s an accepted critique from the woman who prides herself on being Portis’ toughest critic.

Edwards also is the one who supported and showed love to Portis through thick and thin, who taught him everything he knows about discipline and dedication, pride and purpose. She raised him as a single parent since he was 10 months old after things didn’t work out with Portis’ father. It forced Edwards to fill in the gaps.

Portis never wants her to forget what a fine job she did. And so shortly after his third NBA season, Portis finally presented her with his long-awaited token of appreciation.

“She was a big part of me, and everything I did she did anything she could do to help me succeed,” Portis said. “So I credit her for everything with my success.”

Marcus McCarroll was there on Mother’s Day, at the house eagerly waiting to shout “surprise” along with the rest. He actually thought his two children, 14 and 11, were going to spoil the moment. They were walking in with their mother right as Portis pulled up. McCarroll thought Edwards surely had seen them.

Nope. Too teary-eyed to see straight.

McCarroll is a father figure to Portis. He was among the small circle of people Portis trusted to tell his plans for turning his mother’s dream home into a reality. Sandy Sawyers, a family friend whom Portis likens to a second mom, and Portis’ Little Rock-based financial advisor, Larry Middleton, were the only others allowed in the loop. They helped Portis put the wheels in motion. A realtor, banker and interior decorator later joined the party. Everyone else couldn’t be counted on to keep quiet.

McCarroll trained and coached Portis during his formative years in Little Rock — where he now hosts a youth basketball camp — providing guidance on and off the court since Portis was 11.

“Bobby was a shy kid that I used to get onto and he might start crying,” McCarroll said. “He went from being that kid who was unable to control his emotions to being a leader on the team, controlling his emotions and understanding what he needed to do to get better.”

When he reached middle school, Portis confidently told McCarroll he’d someday get paid to play basketball. By his 10th grade year, Portis had become a serious ballplayer, and McCarroll pushed him to write down his goals.

“Write it down or it’s just a wish,” McCarroll would say.

Portis obliged and showed McCarroll his goals, of course from his smartphone, not pen and paper. There were eight or nine ambitions, an audacious list of goals for any hooper, things like making the Jordan Brand Classic and the McDonald’s All-American Game.

McCarroll was impressed Portis had the vision to actually list his goals and the wisdom to see what could be in store for his future. But it didn’t surprise McCarroll that Portis accomplished each goal. He always knew Portis to be a serious worker. He didn’t go anywhere. He didn’t do anything.

Portis couldn’t even drive until his senior year. He got his license just in time to drive to prom.

McCarroll, who willingly gave driving lessons in his truck, likes to joke that it too must have been on Portis’ checklist.

When it came to hitting the gym, however, Portis was quick to put in the work. He often asked McCarroll for extra work, and when Portis needed to be shuttled from place to place, gym to gym, his mother was the one who made it possible. If he had high school practice at 3 p.m., Edwards picked him up and got him to McCarroll for an ensuing workout at 5 p.m. If practice was at 5 p.m., Portis would work with McCarroll at 3. No matter the circumstance, Edwards got Portis where he needed to be.

She did it all while working hectic hours with stressful schedules.

Edwards has worked the past nine years as an independent contractor for Bimbo Bakeries. She delivers bread to grocery stores, schools, restaurants, hospitals and the county jails. She has 62 stops on her route, working 12-hour days on Mondays and Thursdays — up at 3 a.m., out the house at 3:30 a.m. and at the warehouse by 4 a.m. to load her truck for the day.

Friday is Edwards’ easy day. It was Wednesday when Portis was in high school.

An easy day means a lighter route, which means calling it a day sooner. That meant breakfast for the boys before school. It was the only day Edwards’ work schedule allowed her to make it home in time to take her children to school. Her father, in old reliable “Ken’s Cab,” would drop them off on the other schooldays.

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A smile now creases Portis’ face as he remembers classmates foolishly thinking a daily cab meant his family had money.

Edwards always picked up her boys from school, but on Wednesday mornings she made up for being unable to take them to school the rest of the week by treating them to breakfast. She’d take them to whatever pit stop they preferred to fill up at that morning. She still does the same for her youngest three. Last week, they got Chick-fil-A. It’s all part of making their time special and doing what she can when she can to show her love and create memories.

Things are more stable now. Edwards has more autonomy over her schedule and can sell her routes whenever she’s ready. Portis, every now and then, will remind her he can make that happen.

But Tina Edwards is a worker. Always has been.

She spent five years at American Airlines prior to the bread company. She worked as a ramp agent, loading and unloading planes in 100-degree Arkansas heat. That lasted a year before she moved inside and split time as a ticketing and gate agent. Edwards’ hours were noon to 9 p.m., meaning “Ken’s Cab” picked up Portis and his brothers from school. Hicks would make sure they had dinner.

Before that, Edwards worked as a rental agent at National Car Rental. She spent six years there, clocking in at 6 a.m., punching out at 2 p.m. Working weekends worked her last nerve. But she did what she had to do.

“She was relentless in refusing to fall short of the task of taking care of her kids and making sure she provided,” McCarroll said.

Portis took note. He watched his mom work every step of the way, often tagging along with Edwards from one job to the next, one home to the next. Portis remembers living in six houses, or maybe it’s seven. The last house was their longest residence, a seven-year stay. Depending on the night, nine or 10 people, including Portis’ grandparents and cousins, would be crammed into the four-bedroom house.

“It was tough on us,” Portis said. “But we always made it work because my momma always said, ‘Never complain. Always make things work. It gets greater later.’ That’s what she always said, ‘The cream always rises to the top.’ And we just stuck with it. Nobody ever complained. We always shared rooms, shared beds. We did what we had to do to help each other.”

Edwards was the constant amid rampant change.

“She was a solid rock in that young man’s life,” McCarroll said. “There wasn’t a time where she was never that rock in his life while maintaining everything else too. That’s big to me.”

McCarroll is among the few who hold a true understanding of the dynamics. He experienced both sides — Portis putting in the work to fulfill his dreams and Edwards’ never-ending grind to make it possible for her eldest. It made it all the more special for McCarroll to be present on Mother’s Day. He’s shared some milestone moments with Portis, none that meant more than this.

“It was nothing like seeing his momma get that house,” McCarroll said. “It was an incredible moment for him. He was proud. Everybody in there got teary-eyed because it was a beautiful thing.”

On a warm July day, while Bobby Portis and his three younger brothers were at summer league in Las Vegas, Tina Edwards was floating around in her backyard pool. For the first time, she had the new house to herself.

At first, she felt lonely. It was just her and the family dog, a pit bull named Mojo. Edwards missed her boys and started feeling sad. They were 1,500 miles away, and she felt stuck in her big, new house by herself.

Then she changed her attitude. She told herself she was on vacation. She stopped sulking and started swimming. She swam for an hour, soon realizing how much she loved the peace and quiet she’d always sought in a home. Of course, she FaceTimed her boys from the pool to let them know the fun she was having.

Edwards is a proud swimmer but likes using pool noodles to relax and, when she feels like it, do water aerobics. Her younger boys — 17-year-old Jarod Summons, 15-year-old Jared Summons and 14-year-old Jamaal Summons — are not yet swimmers. Edwards enrolled them in swim lessons and bought them life jackets. If their friends laughed at their equipment, so be it, she told them. As long as they’re protected. They’re big boys, all standing at least 6-foot-2 and all weighing at least 220 pounds. Jared is 6-foot-5, 320. He’s a nose tackle with NFL aspirations.

Edwards still won’t let them swim without both their life jackets and her watchful eye from the pool’s edge, her legs dangling in the water, her feet swaying back and forth.

It sure beats the local pool park and trips to Wild River Country in North Little Rock.

“It’s nice that you can just go outside and get in your pool and swim as long as you want to, day or night, and then go back in the house,” Edwards said.

And retreat to her own room.

Jared, the NFL hopeful who turns 16 on Dec. 27, shared Edwards’ room. Until three years ago, he slept in bed with her. That’s why Portis calls Jared the biggest momma’s boy of the bunch.

“Actually, BP, to me, has been the biggest momma’s boy,” Edwards said. “Jared is a big momma’s boy. He’s a big teddy bear. But I would say BP was a momma’s boy, too.”

At the new place on Ponca Drive, Jared finally got his own room. The biggest thing he looked forward to: privacy. Jared quickly decorated his way, decking the walls with self portraits and his football pictures.

“I’ve been enjoying my room, my own space, my own closet,” Jared said. “I can walk into my own closet and see my own clothes.”

Jared loves the downstairs living room just as much. He spends most of his time there, which tells you all you need to know about the space. It sucked a soon-to-be 16-year-old out of his new room, his first room. It must be nice.

It’s where the family congregates most.

Edwards’ favorite colors are red and white. Can you blame her after Portis starred for the Razorbacks and got drafted by the Bulls? Portis wanted to personalize the home with accents he knew would please his mother. Two plush white couches were brought in for the living room, as well as two red chairs.

An interior decorator touched up an abstract piece of art hanging above the fireplace, turning a circle in the middle of the painting into a basketball and adding some red, white and black to match the motif. A red and white rug rests in the middle of the room to pull it all together.

This is where Edwards and her boys bond now.

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The kitchen is just off the living room, in sort of an open concept. It allows Edwards to cook while her boys watch television and hang out nearby. The electric stove hasn’t stopped Edwards from whipping up some of her crowd pleasers — chicken breasts or Alfredo with shrimp. Meatloaf or macaroni and cheese. Greens and cornbread or broccoli and carrots.

That’s one of the ways Edwards always took care of her boys, by making them savory home-cooked meals.

“She always cooked good for us, man. Like, we always ate good no matter what,” Portis said. “We had them good meals. Every day. But on the weekend, you’re on your own. You got to find something around the house. But during the week, we’re eating good.”

Bobby Portis bought his mother a car, too.

He checked that off his bucket list three years ago, delivering Edwards a white Infiniti QX80 two months after the Bulls selected him with the 22nd overall pick in the 2015 draft. Edwards loves white cars. That one replaced her 2004 Chevy Tahoe.

Her SUV is black now. Because last December, Portis instructed his mom, against her wishes, to upgrade again, to take her Infiniti to the dealer and trade it in for the newest model.

Five months later, Portis surpassed that surprise.

“The house outdid the car,” Edwards said.

Both were complete shocks to Edwards, who never asked for any of it. Portis just keeps doing out of the kindness of his heart.

Edwards wants to express her gratitude. A thank you card just doesn’t cover two luxury cars and a dream home. So Edwards did the only thing she could think of. She flooded Portis’ phone with texts. For a week straight.

She told him repeatedly that she loved him, that she is blessed, that she is thankful for all he had done and continued to do. She could sense, after the third or fourth day, she was working her son’s nerves.

“He was, like, ‘Momma, we still talking about this?’”

Portis had moved on, probably plugging away already on a new list of goals. Edwards didn’t care. She kept texting. She tried to tell Portis he didn’t understand. She tried explaining exactly what he had done.

“You did something at 23 that most 23-year-olds aren’t even thinking of,” Edwards told him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay BP for what he did for us,” Edwards added.

Portis would have done it sooner had it not been for his mother’s words echoing in the back of his mind.

“My mom stays on my ass about the things I do, the things I buy,” Portis said. “My mom’s like my unwritten financial advisor. She wants me to be wealthy and not just have a lot of money. She wants me to be wealthy when I’m done playing the game of basketball. She always says basketball is going to leave one day. So the things that you do now, what you spend you money on, you need to invest in the right things, have the right people around you to help you make the right decisions about what you’re doing with your money and ultimately save as much money as possible.”

Portis’ rookie contract will net him $2.49 million this season, as Portis and the Bulls couldn’t agree on an extension in early October, which will make him a restricted free agent in the offseason. But Portis hasn’t had the bet-on-himself season he likely envisioned, playing in only nine games because of injuries. He’s currently out two to four weeks with a sprained right ankle.

Edwards has no access to her son’s millions and doesn’t want any. She wants only what’s best for Portis. Her long-term desire for her son’s financial freedom ultimately laid the foundation for Portis taking a slower pace toward fulfilling his dream. Rather than throw down major money on his mother’s dream home immediately, he wisely waited, letting his invested money accrue so that he could spend from a position of strength.

Portis saved his money on the front end and negotiated a sweetheart deal on the back.

“We kind of talked him down a little bit. He was a fan of mine, the guy I bought from,” Portis said with a smile. “That kind of helped as well. He was a Razorbacks fan. That always helps.”

It’s all very strange for Edwards, her son first landing in the NBA, then lavishing her with the type of big-ticket items she never let define her.

“I didn’t ask for a lot as a kid. I didn’t ask for a lot as an adult. I still don’t ask for a lot,” Edwards said. “They’ll tell you that. I don’t look for the luxuries in life. I’m just still a plain Jane momma.”

Edwards doesn’t wear makeup, let alone gaudy jewelry. Every so often, she’ll treat herself with a trip to the beauty shop. And shoes. She loves shoes. Outside of that, Edwards’ last 25 years have been about pouring into her children.

“I’ve always been a hardworking mom and worked day in and day out to provide for them, each and every one of them,” Edwards said. “I did a lot for Bobby, not just when it was just him but even when the little brothers came along. I know sometimes they said I probably did more for him, but my dad always instilled you take care of the oldest and then when the next one comes along you take care of him.”

Her oldest is now taking care of her, and he’s showing his appreciation in ways big and small.

Portis has two tattoos of Edwards’ likeness, one on his leg that he got last year and one on his left forearm that he added only a few months ago. Portis texted his mom asking for her favorite picture of herself. She sent one she adores. Edwards then woke up in the middle of the night, as she has done for years to start her work day, and saw Portis’ latest gesture.

Bobby Portis’ forearm tattoo of his mother, Tina Edwards. (Darnell Mayberry/The Athletic)

“He’s giving me my flowers while I’m here,” Edwards said.

The two-story home with the stretched drive at the end of quiet cul-de-sac on Ponca Drive was just part of the plan.

“It was a crazy feeling, bro,” Portis said. “It’s one of those feelings you have where you know it’s going to be special, but then when you actually do it, it’s 10 times what you thought it would be. It’s just something that you will never, ever forget in your whole life. No money, no fame, nothing can replace that feeling. That’s something that I will always cherish.”

(Top photo courtesy Tina Edwards. Left to right: Jamaal Summons, Bobby Portis, Tina Edwards, Jared Summons, Jarod Summons and Otis Hicks)

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