A Letter to NFL GMs

Dear NFL GMs,

By now you’ve probably heard that I stutter. Everyone has. And look, I get it. It’s a good story. I’m not mad at it. And I appreciate the love. But every time I’ve sat down for an interview that’s where we start, and that’s where we end. The stutter. The stutter. The stutter.

My stutter is part of who I am, but it’s not all of who I am. So, I figured … since I’ve got the pen this time, let me tell you the more complete story.

Here’s who I also am: I’m the best receiver in this draft. Period. 

I run crisp routes. I catch everything thrown anywhere near me. I work my tail off every practice, every drill. I get in and out of my breaks fast. And I will outwork ANYBODY you put in front of me. 

Off the field, the challenges I’ve faced haven’t just been about having a speech impediment. I also grew up with my dad in and out of prison. And when I was a kid, there were a lot of difficult, lean times when my family didn’t have very much. I had to grow up fast. I had responsibilities and worries most kids my age didn’t have. I’ve faced adversity my entire life, basically. 

I wouldn’t change any of it, though. Because all of that has built character and compassion and fearlessness within me. It’s made me into someone I’m genuinely proud to be. Someone who doesn’t quit. Ever. 

But you know what … let me back up here for a second. If you really want to know my full story, we have to go all the way back to elementary school. 

My family had moved from Rochester down to Charlotte. My dad was the one who first put a football in my hands. He’s the reason I fell in love with the game. But him being in jail meant my mom had to hold it down. For all of us. Alone. She always did her best, went above and beyond, always got us what me and my brothers needed. But sometimes we’d be struggling to make ends meet. It seemed like we always had to be cutting back, or hustling, or going without lots of things just to make sure we had a roof over our heads. Back then, even though I was little, I had to take on a lot of responsibility around the house. My younger brothers looked up to me, and so I kind of always had to be acting older than I actually was. Because I always knew they were watching. I could never really let loose and truly be a kid, you know what I mean?

And then, on top of all that — I also stuttered.

The other kids at school, they’d notice how I’d get stuck on certain words. Or that it would take me a second to respond to the teacher, or to tell them my name. 

And look — kids are mean sometimes. Simple as that. 

They’d point at me, or make faces, or raise their eyebrows, and then it’d be like….

“What’s wrong with you?!??!”

Or

“Why can’t you talk normal? Are you dumb or something????”

Dead in my face. While cracking up laughing. Not with me, or even about me…. At me. Man … it was tough.  

But that’s how it went for me as a little kid. Every day. Monday through Friday at school.  

There were so many afternoons where I’d come home from school just totally beat down. I’d be crying my eyes out to my mom, for real.

My mom, she would do her best to comfort me. She’d tell me to keep my chin up, and she would always remind me that, no matter what anyone tried to say … there was nothing at all wrong with me. She’d do everything she could to boost my confidence. And tell me that tomorrow was another day.  

But in my head it was like….

When I wake up tomorrow, I’m STILL going to stutter.

And those kids are STILL going to be those kids. 

And there was nothing I could really do about it. 

Back then, one of the only things that would cheer me up and have me feeling good was when I finally made it to the end of the week. I’d look at the calendar in the morning and see that it was a Friday, and it’d be like I was getting a present or something. Friday meant the weekend. And the weekend meant I just got to be me. But also, it being a weekend meant that I’d get the chance to do one of my favorite things in the whole world. 

Ya’ll already know football is coming. But not yet. Keep reading….  

Weekends meant I got to wake up early and go into my stealth mode. I’d tiptoe down the steps before my mom and my little brothers got up. Then I’d open up the pantry all quiet and pull stuff out and be grabbing different things from the fridge. It’d be like: pancake mix — check, bacon — check, eggs — check, those Pillsbury cinnamon rolls that come in that weird cardboard canister that pops when you open it — check. 

I’d do the pancake mix first, get that all ready. (It’s pretty easy to mess up pancake mix, btw. Especially when you’re like 8 or whatever.) Then I’d put the bacon in the toaster oven. When the bacon was ready, I’d swap in the cinnamon rolls and make the pancakes on the skillet. I’d have another skillet going with scrambled eggs. Then, when I had everything ready, I’d plate it all and trudge back upstairs and yell out to my family….

“Goooooood morning, everybody!!!!!!!!! It’s that time again!!!!!! Breakfast in bed!!!!! Get it while it’s hot!!!!!!!!”

It was like a party. Every single time. 

My mom and my little brothers, they’d be celebrating the pancakes. But me? I was celebrating something bigger….

I had 48 hours where I could just be at peace. And feel free to just be me. That was worth a party. 

And for what it’s worth — yeah, I still cook. My teammates eat good. Call me Kevvy Crocker. 

---

---

The other place where I got to be free? That was on the football field.

When I put on those cleats and that helmet, none of the other stuff followed me out there. Not the overdue bills, not my dad being away, none of it. Out there it was just — what can you do? 

And what I could do was run. 

I’d basically run wild on whatever team we’d be playing. But since I was the quarterback, I had to be giving the plays to our offense in the huddle. And I remember at one point, when I was really little, I noticed that I’d sometimes have trouble getting the words out, or the numbers. My teammates would be looking at me like…. “Hurry up! Hurry!! Just say it!!!”  

That’s when it first hit me like.… Hmmm what’s going on here?

Not long after that, I started doing these speech classes at my elementary school. They’d teach me certain breathing exercises and other techniques to help me pronounce different words. But nothing seemed to be working. 

Then, one summer, the weirdest thing happened. The school year ended, and I went home on that last day feeling so relieved because, in my head, I was about to have what amounted to like 30 straight weekends in a row before having to go back to school and get teased. It was the best feeling in the world. And when I woke up that next morning….

My stutter was gone. 

It just disappeared. Completely. Like magic. 

All of a sudden it was easier for me to form sentences and get everything I wanted to say out. It felt like this huge weight was lifted off my shoulders. 

No one knew why it happened. We were all just mainly happy and grateful that it did happen. And it felt so good to be able to express myself without having to struggle or stress. It was almost like I was beginning a whole new life.   

Then, when school started up again, as quickly as the stuttering went away … it came right back again. Like magic in reverse. 

And it’s been with me ever since.

I’d love to tell you I had a bunch of teachers looking out for me, or other grownups at school who would help me deal with all the teasing, but that wasn’t really the case. There also wasn’t anyone I knew or could look up to who was dealing with anything similar. So I basically just kind of figured things out on my own. 

And back then, how I would deal with my situation is, a lot of times … I’d basically just not talk. Especially around people I didn’t know. And when I did have to speak up, I learned how to clap back. I had those comebacks ready, man!

Sometimes that worked, and sometimes it didn’t. But it was like…. At least I’m doing SOMETHING! 

---

---

The one place where I never had to figure any of that out was on the football field. Out there, nobody cared how I talked. They only cared about if I could play. So just like those Saturday mornings in the kitchen — out on the field, I just got to be me. 

I remember this one game, I think it was the 10U championship in our area, against the Bulldogs. That team, they’re always good. But I had like 350 yards rushing and seven touchdowns. So we won it all. And everyone was so happy.  

It felt amazing to have everybody congratulating me and hugging me and giving me high fives. It was teammates, classmates, parents, coaches, players on the other team, referees, just like everyone. It was all love. And I’ll never forget how good that felt.  

But by far the best part was seeing my mom’s face in that moment. How happy she was. She’d been with me from the very beginning — through every hard day, every afternoon I came home beat down, every moment I felt hopeless. She never lost faith. Not once. And her smile on that day meant everything to me. It was like she realized I had done what she told me. I hadn’t given up. I kept going.

And now … people were giving me high fives. 

So yeah, I just gotta pause here and say, Mom, if you happen to be reading this too — everything you ever taught me, every time you told me to keep my chin up, every morning you got up and kept going even when it was hard … I was watching. I learned how to be who I am from you. That moment was for you. And every single one after it? Those are for you, too. It’s always been for you. 

You helped me get through the rough patches and reach a place where … by the time high school rolled around, nobody was thinking about how I spoke. They were too busy watching what I could do on the field. 

A few years later, as I’m about to begin my NFL journey, I really do feel like everything I had to deal with as a kid — all of it together, not just one thing — built something in me that I can’t fully explain, but that I feel every single day. 

Watching my mom carry everything on her own. Being the oldest, holding it together for my brothers before I even knew what that meant. Fighting to be heard … LITERALLY … every single day. All of that could’ve broken me. It didn’t. It made me someone who refuses to do anything halfway. Someone who doesn’t take the easy way out. Who doesn’t give anyone a reason to count me out.

Because I know what I’m made of. And I know what it cost to get here.

I also know that how I carry myself, how I treat people, the work I put in to be the very best player and person I can be … that stuff matters as much as anything I do on the field. I’m always looking to set an example. For my brothers, for my teammates, for my family. And for any kid out there who sees themselves in me. That’s never going to change.

I remember, when I first got to college, that first year at NC State, I was not going to be outworked. Ever. Springs, weight room, agility — I was always coming in first. Then, when it came time to move on from NC State to Texas A&M, that was all about one thing: I needed to be in the SEC, facing the best of the best, week in and week out, to become the type of player I knew I could be. This past season was even better than I could’ve imagined. And playing for the Aggies was the best time of my life. Coach Elko and Coach Wiggins have fully prepared me for what lies ahead. 

Now it’s just up to me to go out and do my thing at the next level. 

There are a lot of great receivers in this year’s draft. But I promise you this: Everything I’ve been through didn’t just shape me … it’s still in me. Every rep, every route, every time I refuse to quit … that’s where it comes from. Draft me and you get all of that. I’ll put it up against anybody in this class. Any day. Any field. You’re getting someone who has been through it. Someone who knows how to keep going when things get hard. Because things have always been hard. But I’m still here.

And I know that this letter is supposed to be meant for GMs, but I also know who else might be reading it.

So, to any kid out there who is carrying something heavy right now — a stutter, something that makes you feel different, anything that’s ever made someone look at you sideways … just know this: My success … it is your success, too. I want you to come along on this journey with me. Because you and me? We’re not weird. There is nothing wrong with us. Whatever makes you different — that’s not the thing holding you back. That’s your thing. Own it. Be you, fully. Without apology. 

I had to grow up fast and fight hard to get here, for sure. And I’d do it all again. You can do the same thing and reach whatever goals you set for yourself. I’m living proof of that. 

Before I get out of here, I do want to say, once again, for all to hear, that I’m the best receiver in this draft. But, at the end of the day, I’m so much more than just a football player. And any team that picks me is going to realize that immediately. So if you’re a GM out there reading this, put me on your team, and let’s get to work.   

You’re not going to regret calling my name.

Never.

And I mean never.

Did I stutter? 

-KC