Tomorrow

It was too cold to sleep outside in Montréal.

So when I was 16 and didn’t have any place to go at night, here’s what I would do. 

There was this one city bus — the 380 Henri-Bourassa. It would start out on the north side of Montréal where I grew up, and then it would drive all the way to the west side of the city, making a bunch of stops along the route. It ran all night, and back then, from one end of the line to the other would usually take around two full hours. That’s two hours of being able to feel your toes. Two hours of not shivering so hard that you bite into your tongue.  

So, all throughout the day, I would do everything I could to scrounge up bus fare, and then, when it turned to evening and the cold winds hit, I’d leave wherever I was and head to the bus stop.

The doors of the 380 would swing open at the front, I’d step in, pay my $2.75 fare, sit down in some empty window seat and just.… 

Close my eyes.

Sometimes I’d be so tired that my body would allow me to fall asleep — mouth all open, drool down the side of my cheek, the whole nine. If I wasn’t tired enough to dose off, though, I’d just close my eyes and envision something positive: My family all getting along again, winning the lottery, hitting a bunch of threes in a row, just whatever popped into my head.  

Then, after what seemed like an eternity on some nights and other times felt like only about two minutes since I’d taken my seat, the bus would pull into the depot. My head would jerk forward, then back, and I’d hear that woosh of the air brake.

It was like an alarm clock. 

Two hours down.

I’d stumble off the bus, trudge into the station, and sit on a bench for 30 minutes. That’s how long the bus drivers got for a break. The driver would maybe go off and smoke a cigarette, or grab a cup of coffee, or go pee or whatever, and then he’d be back on the bus. 

With me following right along behind him. 

I’d pay another $2.75, and then….

I would ride back to the exact place I came from two and a half hours earlier. 

On the trip back, I’d sleep some more or listen to music on this little pocket radio I had back then, or I’d stare out the window at the fancy cars parked along the street in the rich parts of town. 

And when we arrived back on the north side, I would know that I had killed a total of four and a half nighttime hours. 

Then, if I was lucky enough to have another $5.50 in my pocket, I’d do the whole thing over again — two more hours out, 30 minutes for the driver to smoke, two hours back. A full night’s sleep would run me $11.

It was like an endless loop.

Just me and the 380 Henri-Bourassa, every night. Same route. Same drivers. Same kid sleeping with his jacket rolled up into a pillow. Nothing ever changed. 

Just the exact same loop, night after night.   

With no off-ramp.

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I came to Montréal from St. Lucia with my mom when I was five. 

I don’t even know exactly why we left the island. My dad was already living in Canada at the time with my younger brother. So we were going to meet up with them, and we had to leave fast. That’s all I knew then, and it’s all I know now. It was basically just … one day we were living in the mountains on an island, and the next day we were in Canada, in a big city. 

And it was freezing. 

When we first arrived, we lived in a nice two-floor house where my dad was staying with his sister. It was in the Pie-IX section of Montréal, which is a good neighborhood — lots of things to do and places to play. My brother was only one year younger than me, so we immediately became inseparable. We’d sled ride, go ice skating, build snow forts, you name it. When the holidays came around, our family had these really great Christmas parties where lots of family would come over, and everyone would laugh and sing together.

It was basically just … One day we were living in the mountains on an island, and the next day we were in Canada, in a big city. 

Everything changed when I turned seven.

My parents had been arguing for a while by that time, yelling really loudly at each other. And then at one point, right around Christmas, I heard them talking about selling the house.  

Before I even knew what happened, my parents had split up, and me, my brother and little sister, and our mom moved into a one-bedroom apartment in Montréal-Nord. Which, if you know Montréal, is … not as nice as Pie-IX. 

To make rent and buy food, my mom worked at a food store during the day, and then when she got off there she’d head to the Couche-Tard to run the night shift at the gas station market. Since I was the oldest, I had to look after my siblings when she was gone. Which meant I was in charge of cooking up the Top Ramen packets for dinner. Either that or those little Michelina’s frozen dinners in the cardboard containers — mac and cheese, lasagna with meat sauce, my little sister loved those things. But other than punching some numbers into the microwave, I wasn’t acting like the oldest sibling. I was 9 or 10, or whatever. I wanted to be running around and having fun.   

The thing was, where we lived … it wasn’t the safest place.

We’d always hear sirens, day and night. Gunshots, too. People we knew well, family friends, one day they were around, and then the next day they were just gone forever.  

So when our mom was at work, we weren’t allowed to go any further than the front of the apartment building. Most of the time we’d just be inside playing Mario Kart, Super Smash Bros., or Mario Party on the GameCube we had. 

As I got a little older, though, it was inevitable that I’d want to go outside more. And when I did, it really was everything my mom had been warning us about. Drugs were everywhere. There was constant violence between Bloods and Crips. And even though I wasn’t involved in a gang, because I lived in a Bloods section of the city, whether I wanted to be or not … I was in it. 

This one summer, when I was a little older, around high school, I was playing in an annual street ball tournament at this park. And everyone there knew … when 11:00 hits, the lights are gonna cut out. So my team’s in the semifinal game one night, and it’s around 10:45, and I’m out there on the court just absolutely sweating the time, because it’s getting close to lights out, and after that … who knows what. Then, all of a sudden, it was like something out of a movie. 

First it was the sound of all the light towers shutting down, one at a time. Like … clack, clack, clack, clack. And then, right after that: Pow, pow, pow, pow, pow, pow, pow.  

It sounded like fireworks going off, but it was actually gunshots. 

Everyone’s running in every direction, just sprinting around screaming. 

And it’s crazy, but … I wasn’t even fazed.

I didn’t panic. Didn’t run around like a chicken with its head cut off. None of that. 

There wasn’t one bit of panic inside me at that moment. Instead, it was just about locking in. 

Because, by that time … I was used to crazy stuff like that happening.

It had become my every day.  

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A day that marked me is when I realized I couldn’t live with my mom anymore.

We were staying with her boyfriend at the time. But me and this guy, we were not a good match. We didn’t get along. I was a teenager at that point, 16 or so, and I had dropped out of school to try and make some money to help the family. When I wasn’t working washing dishes or whatever, I would always be out playing ball. So I was basically never at home. 

One night, after a discussion with my mom, we came to the conclusion that it would be best if I left.

That conversation took me to a place I had never been before mentally.  

When it happened, it felt like the life drained out of my body all at once. Mentally, I have never felt so low. I had this moment where it was like….

Damn, I gotta protect my peace, but I feel abandoned right now. 

Then….

Well, it looks like I’m gonna be homeless. 

Actually, though, I guess I wasn’t supposed to be homeless. At least not completely. 

The idea was that I would spend some nights with my dad and some nights with my aunt. But looking back on it all now, that was not a very good plan. 

After the divorce, us kids would see our dad every other weekend, and it always felt like that arrangement was a burden to him. Like he couldn’t wait for Sunday to come so he could drop us off. When I left my mom’s house at 16, and she suggested I stay with my dad some nights, he immediately began hounding her about child support — trying to use me staying there as a way for him to get some of his support payments back. Then, when we tried it out for a few nights, my dad wanted me to pay him rent, pay his Wi-Fi, stuff like that. 

He pretty quickly got to a point where he was just like: “This isn’t what I want at all. You can’t be here.”

And with my aunt, as much as she probably saved my life by welcoming me in … that setup wasn’t sustainable either. I could always feel the tension in the house when I was there. They’d have friends over, and I’d be the outsider, all off to the side. It got to a point where I’d clearly wear out my welcome and it’d be like: “OK, that’s enough for now. You need to go. Come back in a week or so.”   

When that happened, I had to get creative. Sometimes I’d even head over to my dad’s place, wait until he left for work, sneak in and crash on the couch for a while, and then leave right before he was about to get home.  

There were so many nights back then when I was by myself, and it’d be getting late, and cold, and I’d just be standing outside on some street somewhere thinking to myself: How did all of this happen? Like….

How?

On the nights when I had nowhere to go, and I didn’t have money for the 380 Henri-Bourassa, I would basically just improvise.  

That usually meant a lot of … walking. 

And not the good kind of walking. Not exercising. I’m talking about walking just to kill time. Walking to stay warm. That kind. All alone, cold and dark, basically just wandering around so you won’t have to be sleeping outside.

Sometimes I’d run up on an all-night McDonald’s during those walks and go in and wait there for a little bit until they kicked me out. Then I’d head back into the cold and walk some more. I had to persevere. To push through. I had no choice, really.   

I remember I’d make up these little games. Just to keep my mind active. Or to somehow try to make it fun. It’d be like: OK, sprint to that next stoplight, then jump up and slap the street sign. Other times it’d be: Run to the next light, then walk to the next one, then run to the one after that. I wouldn’t even think about how far I was walking, but then I’d look up and wouldn’t believe how far I’d traveled. Before I knew it, I’d be all the way across town.     

I’d walk for miles and miles on those nights. 

And get absolutely nowhere. 

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I always try to look on the bright side.

And so, there is this….

All that walking at night definitely helped with my cardio. 

I had energy. I could fly around. But, honestly, what really set things in motion for me with basketball was finally learning how to dunk. 

Up until I was 16 or 17, I felt like I was wasting my height … like I was tall for nothing, because I was this 6-foot-8 kid who didn’t know how to dunk. For years, I tried all these different drills and techniques, and none of it ever worked. 

At one point, I kind of had to stop. Just because it was getting so frustrating. I decided to work on shooting threes instead. I started playing with a bunch of Filipino guys on the west side of the city, and they would teach me these shooting drills. It became a routine, every Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday they would be at the courts. So I got on a tight schedule. And I got better at shooting pretty quick. 

But I still couldn’t dunk.  

Finally, one day, it was like some wizard took a magic wand and waved it at me. I’m on the court messing around and all of a sudden I stop shooting the ball, and something comes over me like: Go and dunk the basketball now!

I took a running start, and I traveled like crazy for sure, but when I got to the hoop I leaped up and instead of clanking the ball into the rim or losing my handle in the air, I….

Actually dunked the basketball.

I felt like a superhero right then. Like I could maybe do anything.

I immediately did it a second time. Then again. 

In the span of about two minutes, I went from “This is literally impossible!!!” to “This is soooo easy!” 

Looking back on it now, I was basically just overthinking things. 

I just needed for my body to take over for my brain and say enough is enough.

Just go dunk!

And after that day, oh man … I’d be dunking on guys’ heads literally all game. I was unstoppable. 

You gotta remember, though: I had dropped out of school. These games I was playing in … they’re outside. Blacktop courts. I’m not dunking over guys in high school gyms in front of scouts. I’m playing pickup ball against grown-ass men, right near some swing sets and sliding boards. So I wasn’t for a second thinking about pro ball or making it to the NBA back then.

Fortunately for me….

It seems like maybe if you dunk on enough guys’ heads, they’ll find you no matter where you’re playing.

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Within a year of me learning how to dunk, the coaches at the Alma Academy saw me play and invited me to join their AAU team. Before long, I had moved five hours away from home to go to study and play at their prep school.  

Everyone at Alma was so supportive. And it was nice to not have to worry about where I was going to sleep anymore. I can’t explain to you what a difference that makes, just on a day-to-day level. Without so many worries, I was freed up to focus on my game. So I got better in a hurry. 

I was getting recruited by lots of places in the States, but because I’d dropped out, I didn’t have the grades to go to a D1 school. I ended up playing one JUCO year in New Mexico, and then another in Wyoming. Put up video game–type numbers. Got Player of the Year for all of JUCO. 

Things were moving fast. 

I looked up one day and … it wasn’t freezing outside at night anymore. I wasn’t eating just ramen for every meal. And all the buses I boarded dropped me off at gyms … where people would come to see me play. 

On May 15, 2015, I committed to become an Oregon Duck.

Pretty much everything I’ve done on a basketball court since then has been on TV.

Almost immediately upon arriving at Oregon, everyone on campus knows me and is saying what’s up. It was surreal. 

On the court, I started playing, and playing well, against higher level competition. I mean, I was in a groove — flying around, blocking shots, making 3s, and just running. Before I knew it, we were in the NCAA tournament and our team was good. We were stacked with future NBA guys — Dillon Brooks, Payton Pritchard, Jordan Bell — and I was doing my thing. 

It was like a dream come true.  

I never would have imagined anything like that back in Montréal-Nord, that’s for sure. 

But, at the end of my time at Oregon, it definitely didn’t play out like some Disney movie for me. It wasn’t one of those things where the homeless kid gets a big break and then everything goes great from there. Where now that I made it in bigtime college basketball, everything just kept going up and I live out the dream.

In the Pac-12 conference tournament, right before I was about to head into the draft, I tore my ACL. At the time I didn’t know that’s what for sure happened. I went up for a rebound, came down awkwardly and immediately felt like something wasn’t right. I finished the game basically on one leg. (Don’t know how I did that.) But the next day I got an MRI and they told me — torn ACL. I needed surgery and would be out nine to 12 months. And just like that, I went from being a draft prospect and potential first-round pick to going completely undrafted.

And, you know what, I’m not gonna lie: I went through some dark times back then. It was like … I was on a top-10 college team, getting ready for the NCAA tournament and getting my huge break and now I’m out. Not only for the tournament, but for most of  next year?!! Plus, I’m 24 already. WAY older than the average NBA prospect. And now I have a torn ACL?!?! What NBA team wants a guy like that?!?!

 It was tough to see any light at the end of the tunnel for a while there. 

But … I still found a way forward. And rolled with the punches. Just like I had been doing since I was little. 

I could’ve given up, I guess. Moved back home and called it a day. But I didn’t for a second think about doing that. I just basically stayed believing in myself, and I worked my ass off to heal up and be even better at basketball. Knowing that my future was uncertain, but that I was the one who controlled it.

When the Warriors agreed to sign me on a two-way contract on draft night in 2017, even despite me rehabbing that ACL injury, it seemed like I’d finally broken through everything and come out the other side. I knew how hard I was going to work, how much I wanted to make a name for myself in the league. So there was no doubt in my mind that it was all going to work out. A few weeks later, I’m at the Warriors facility getting up shots right next to Steph and Klay and KD. Learning from the best of the best. And once I got healthy and was playing full-speed again, I felt like I was holding my own against those guys in scrimmages and practice. So, in my mind, it was only a matter of time. 

But yeah, like I said … it definitely wasn’t storybook. 

As much as I was absolutely sure that I was about to make my presence felt on the NBA in a big way during that first year, it turned out that, basically, well ….

I was wrong. 

I guess I should have known it wasn’t gonna be that easy. And, in my defense, we’re talking about the 2017–18 Warriors. That was a historically strong roster. But yeah…. 

I ended up getting literally one minute of run with Golden State that season. 

One. 

What did I do in that one minute? Get 1 rebound and airball a 3. That’s it.

Then, right before the NBA Playoffs, the Warriors decided to waive me.

In thinking back on it, as much as it sucked to get that news, I feel like it kind of helped me in a way. It made me realize how fortunate I was to be an NBA player at all. And it made me more determined to prove myself to the world. It was like: Oh, damn. That’s it? I’m already out the league? I just kept telling myself that I couldn’t let myself be one of those guys who’s 50 and at some playground somewhere playing pickup games talking about how he used to be in the NBA. I didn’t want to be that guy saying that I played in the NBA … and then having to add on “for one minute.” So it lit another fire within me.

But get this, the crazy thing is, when the Warriors cut me, they didn’t announce it right away. They flew me back home first class a few days before the playoffs started, but the move wasn’t publicized until almost two months later, after the Finals ended. 

I remember I took the redeye from SFO to Montréal, and I had a layover at JFK. It was a pretty wild moment sitting there in the airport in New York at sunrise. Like … Who knows where things are gonna go from here? 

At one point I looked up and just randomly saw my agent, Sam, who happened to be flying out that morning. We sat down and had breakfast for two hours and talked about what happened, my career, the disappointment of getting cut and how important the next opportunity was. I knew I wouldn’t get too many more chances. If I didn’t show out and make an impression, I’d be headed for the G League or overseas. Probably for good. It was make or break. I remember telling him over some pancakes and juice that I was ready for any opportunity.

But then, back home, it was a hard couple of months. People still thought I was a part of the Warriors team. And I didn’t want to tell anyone I got cut early for fear that it might get out publicly and affect my next opportunity. 

So when I got back home to Montréal, I literally didn’t go out. I hid, basically. Like I legit hid out at my mom’s place for two months.

And me, my mom, my brother, and my sister turned on the TV and, for two months, I watched the team I was just on, and a historically great one at that, make a run to the NBA finals and then sweep Cleveland for an NBA title.  

I remember my mom coming over to me after Game 4 ended, seeing that I was a bit down, and saying something that seemed absolutely crazy at the time. 

“Don’t worry, Chris. Next year that will be you up there with that trophy!”

It was a nice thing for her to say, for sure. But I mean, I was just like…. 

Yeah, sure, Mom. Totally. OK. Whatever you say. 

To be able to win a title in Toronto, and then to be fortunate enough to play for seven amazing seasons in Canada is something that’s very meaningful to me. I think that’s where I finally got my Disney ending lol. It also wasn’t easy, though — I started as a Summer League invite (and got DNPs my first two games of Summer League), worked my way to a training camp invite, from there got a two-way deal, was the first ever G League MVP and Defensive Player of the year in the same season, and then FINALLY signed my first standard NBA deal. And just kept working, working, working. 

I’m incredibly grateful to the entire Raptors organization for giving me that chance — for believing in me one more time, when I thought no one else might. From Masai and Bobby, to the staff, coaches, trainers, security guards, ushers, EVERYONE in the organization. They treated me like one of their own and embraced me. That’s special, and something I’ll always be incredibly grateful for.

It hasn’t always been easy for me since I came over from St. Lucia, but I love Canada so much. The people of this country have always shown me love and support, and I would not be the person that I am today if it wasn’t for all different people from all over Canada supporting me over the years. 

And I have to say: One of the things that I love most about Canadians is that … I don’t know what it is, but lots of them … they are just naturally … optimistic. They can always see the positive side of things. They believe that, no matter how bad things may seem at any one moment, something good is bound to be right around the corner. It has to be. They roll with the punches.

That’s dope!

I definitely feel like that perspective is a huge part of who I am, and made it so I kept pushing forward despite all the uncertainty and instability that were such a big part of my life when I was younger. Ever since I was little, I have always been grateful for anything at all that I had. Even when I had almost nothing. I never stopped smiling. Never stopped believing that things would turn around for me. Not once.  

And that’s a perspective I carry with me to this day. It’s something I’ve tried to highlight and share with others through the SlimmDuck Foundation. Our goal is to give children and underserved communities meaningful opportunities and experiences, as well as the tools they need to succeed. That looks like providing school supplies, scholarships, free basketball camps, meals, holiday gifts, and much more. It’s all something I’m extremely proud to be able to do, but I’m especially proud of the mental health support and mentoring that we offer to the youth through the foundation and our partners. I’ve experienced what it feels like to struggle mentally and with my emotions. I know the toll it can take on a person, and I feel like I owe it to everyone out there to share what I’ve learned throughout my journey, as a way to promote wellness, self-confidence, and resilience, especially among the younger generations. 

I just feel so lucky, you know what I mean? So blessed. In so many ways. Because I was able to grind and stay positive and never lose faith in myself growing up, I’ve been able to experience so many incredible moments over the years.    

I mean, to win an NBA title is one thing….

But to win it and be able to bring that trophy back home to Canada?

To win it after everything that I lived through?

I don’t know how you put it into words.

It’s like….

I used to ride the bus around just to get some sleep at night. Just to stay warm.

Now I’m on top of the bus, holding up the NBA trophy? I’m a champion? Riding through downtown Toronto with Drake shouting us out? 

And then, to build a really solid NBA career from there, mostly in Toronto, no less, for CANADA’s team, I mean….

Sometimes I have to pinch myself, the way everything worked out. 

I got to be a Raptor for all those years and become a vet in this league. And now I get to play for one of the most iconic franchises in basketball. I get to be a Celtic and wear the green and go out and prove myself to the world once again while competing for a title. I get to call another place home, continue working every day and playing the game I love.

How do you even explain all of that? 

I don’t know. I really don’t. But one thing about me is, I never stopped thinking that tomorrow was gonna be better than today. 

Tomorrow, I’m gonna get $11 together, and I’m gonna sleep a full night. 

Tomorrow, I’m gonna dunk.

Tomorrow, tomorrow….

Everything’s gonna be better. 

Tomorrow, I’m going to have a bed to sleep in. 

I’m going to have a home. 

I’m going to be alright. Happy, healthy, at peace. 

So, yeah, even though I don’t know how to explain it all. One thing I do know is this: If you can just stay positive, and you keep believing … no matter how bad your situation is, man, I swear to you….

Tomorrow you’ll be alright.