Michael Jordan’s Son Is Mocked for Not Being Like His Father—His Response Wins Over the Internet

Michael Jordan’s Son Is Mocked for Not Being Like His Father—His Response Wins Over the Internet

When you’re the son of the greatest basketball player of all time, the world expects you to soar just as high. But what happens when you can’t—or don’t want to—fill those legendary shoes?

For 14-year-old Jaden Jordan, being Michael Jordan’s son meant living with impossible expectations. When a video of his missed layup went viral, cruel comments flooded the internet: “Like father, unlike son.” The world laughed at the kid who couldn’t live up to his famous last name. What nobody expected was Jaden’s response—a message so honest and vulnerable that it didn’t just silence the mockers; it started a movement.

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Jaden sat on the hard wooden bench, his legs swinging back and forth as he watched his teammates play. The squeaking of sneakers against the polished gym floor filled his ears. The scoreboard showed only three minutes left in the game, and Coach Miller still hadn’t put him in. “Come on, Coach,” Jaden whispered to himself. His Chicago Middle School Eagles were up by 15 points against the Lakeside Tigers. “If there was ever a safe time to put him in, it was now.”

Finally, Coach Miller turned around, his eyes scanning the bench. “Jordan, you’re in for Mike.” Jaden’s heart raced as he jumped to his feet. He wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts and ran onto the court, giving Mike a high five as they passed each other. “Don’t mess this up, Jordan,” Mike said with a grin that wasn’t really friendly.

Jaden took his position, trying to remember everything he had practiced. The ball was passed inbounds, and his teammate Caleb dribbled down the court. Jaden cut to the basket, waving his hand. “I’m open,” he called. By some miracle, Caleb passed him the ball. Jaden caught it, took one dribble, and went up for the layup. It was an easy shot, one he had made hundreds of times in practice. But not today. The ball hit the rim, circled around, and fell out. Groans erupted from the crowd.

Jaden’s cheeks burned as he ran back on defense. “Like father, unlike son!” someone shouted from the bleachers. The words hit Jaden like a physical blow. He missed a defensive assignment, and a Lakeside player scored an easy basket. “Jordan, what are you doing out there?” Coach Miller yelled.

For the next two minutes, Jaden tried to make himself invisible on the court. When the final buzzer sounded, he was the first one to the locker room. “Hey, Air Jaden,” called Trevor as the other boys filed in. “Nice airball.” “It wasn’t an airball,” Jaden muttered. “It hit the rim.” “Whatever,” Trevor said. “I bet your dad never missed a layup in his life.” The other boys laughed, and Jaden changed as quickly as he could, keeping his eyes down.

The drive home was quiet. Their driver, Mr. Reynolds, knew better than to ask about the game. As they pulled through the gates of their Highland Park mansion, Jaden stared out the window at the sprawling green lawns. Most kids would think living here was amazing. Most kids didn’t have to be Michael Jordan’s son.

“Thanks, Mr. Reynolds,” Jaden said as he got out of the car. Inside, the house was quiet. His mom was at a charity event, and his dad was in Charlotte for Hornets business. His older siblings were all grown up and living their own lives. Jasmine was working with the Jordan brand, Jeffrey had his own business, and Marcus ran Trophy Room, a shoe store inspired by their dad’s trophy room at home.

Speaking of the trophy room, Jaden dropped his backpack by the stairs and walked down the hall to the room that held his father’s accomplishments. The door was never locked. It was like his dad wanted them to go in there, to see what greatness looked like. Jaden flipped on the lights. Glass cases lined the walls, filled with golden trophies, game balls, and framed jerseys. Photos of his dad soaring through the air, tongue out, determined to win no matter what. In the center of the room was the display of six NBA championship trophies, each one representing a year the Chicago Bulls, led by Michael Jordan, had been the best team in the world.

Jaden stood in front of a large photo of his dad jumping from the free throw line in the slam dunk contest. People said it looked like he was flying. “I’ll never be like you,” Jaden whispered to the photo.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a text from his best friend, Tyrell. “How was the game?” Jaden typed back, “Coach put me in. I missed an easy layup.” The reply came quickly: “That’s rough, but hey, you got in the game. That’s something.” Tyrell was always looking on the bright side. That’s why they were friends. Tyrell didn’t care that Jaden was Michael Jordan’s son; he just cared that Jaden liked the same video games and comic books that he did. Another text came through: “Want to play Rocket League tonight?” “Can’t, got homework,” Jaden replied. It wasn’t exactly a lie. He did have homework, but mostly he just wanted to be alone.

Jaden left the trophy room and went to the kitchen. Their chef, Ms. Patty, had left dinner in the refrigerator with heating instructions. Jaden wasn’t hungry, but he knew she would ask tomorrow if he had eaten. As he waited for the food to heat up, he checked his phone again. Someone had already posted a video clip of his missed layup on Instagram. The caption read, “Guess the GOAT genes skipped a generation.” There were already 50 comments, most of them laughing or making jokes about how he’d never live up to his dad’s legacy.

Jaden turned off his phone and put it face down on the counter. The microwave beeped, but he ignored it. Instead, he went upstairs to his room and closed the door. His room was the one place that was truly his. No basketball posters, no Bulls colors, just his science fair medals, sketches of shoe designs he was working on, and his collection of robot building kits.

Jaden sat at his desk and pulled out his journal. His therapist had suggested he write down his feelings instead of keeping them bottled up. He hadn’t told his parents about the journal; it was private. “Dear journal,” he wrote, “I missed another shot today. Everyone laughed. Someone shouted something about me not being like Dad, as if I didn’t know that already.” He paused, tapping his pen against the page. “Sometimes I think I should just quit basketball. But what would Dad say? Basketball is everything to him. It’s his whole life. If I quit, would he be disappointed? Would he think I’m weak?”

Jaden looked at the framed family photo on his desk. It was from last Christmas, all of them wearing matching pajamas and smiling. His dad’s arm was around him, proud and strong. “I love basketball,” Jaden continued writing. “I really do. But I hate being Michael Jordan’s son on the basketball court. No matter how good I get, I’ll never be good enough.” He closed the journal and put it in his desk drawer. Tomorrow was another day, another practice, another chance to prove himself—or to fail trying.

Jaden changed into his pajamas and got into bed, even though it was only 7:30. He was tired in a way that had nothing to do with physical activity. “Maybe I should just quit,” he whispered into the darkness of his room. But even as he said it, he knew he wouldn’t. Not yet. Because somewhere deep inside, past all the doubt and fear and pressure, was a tiny spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find his own way to shine, even in the shadow of the greatest of all time.

The next morning, Jaden dragged himself out of bed when his alarm went off. His mom was already gone for a breakfast meeting, and his dad was still in Charlotte. The house felt huge and empty as he got ready for school. Mr. Reynolds drove him to Northshore Middle School in silence. As they pulled up to the drop-off area, Jaden could see his best friend Tyrell waiting by the front steps.

“Have a good day, young Mr. Jordan,” Mr. Reynolds said.

“Thanks,” Jaden mumbled as he grabbed his backpack and got out of the car. Tyrell jogged over to meet him.

“Dude, you look like you didn’t sleep.”

“I didn’t. Not much, anyway.” Jaden fell into step beside his friend as they walked into the school. The hallways were crowded with kids rushing to their lockers before first period. Jaden kept his head down, hoping to blend in.

It didn’t work. “Yo, Jordan,” called Marcus Lee, a tall eighth grader who thought he was the best basketball player in school. “Saw that airball yesterday. Think you could show us how to miss a layup like that?” His friends laughed, one of them pretending to shoot a basketball and miss terribly.

“It wasn’t an airball,” Tyrell said, stepping forward. “And why don’t you back off?”

Marcus raised his eyebrows. “Whoa, sorry. Didn’t know Air Jordan Jr needed a bodyguard.”

Jaden grabbed Tyrell’s arm and pulled him away. “Just ignore them.”

“You can’t let them talk to you like that,” Tyrell said as they walked to their lockers.

“I’m used to it.” Jaden spun the combination on his lock. “It’s been like this since first grade.”

“It’s not right,” Tyrell insisted.

Inside his locker, Jaden had taped up a small photo of his grandfather’s workshop. No basketball stuff, no pictures of his dad, just the one place where he felt like he could be himself.

Their first class was science with Mr. Wilson, Jaden’s favorite teacher. Today they were starting a unit on simple machines.

“We’ll be building our own pulley systems next week,” Mr. Wilson announced. “Start thinking about your partners for the project.”

Tyrell nudged Jaden. “Partners?”

Jaden nodded, already imagining improvements he could make to a basic pulley system. Science made sense to him in a way that basketball never did. There were rules that didn’t change. If you did things the right way, they worked every time.

The morning passed quickly, then came lunch. The cafeteria was loud and chaotic as Jaden and Tyrell carried their trays to their usual table. A group of boys from the basketball team sat at the next table over.

“Did you guys see that video of Jordan’s kid missing that shot?” One of them asked loudly, making sure Jaden could hear. “My little sister could make that layup.”

“I bet his dad is super disappointed,” another boy said.

“Look, I’m Jaden Jordan,” a third boy said, standing up. He pretended to dribble, then shot an imaginary ball that missed badly. “Oops, guess I didn’t inherit the talent gene.” They all burst out laughing.

Jaden stared at his sandwich, his appetite gone. “Those guys are jerks,” Tyrell said. “Don’t listen to them.”

“It’s fine,” Jaden said, even though it wasn’t. “I’m used to it.”

“That’s what you always say, but I can tell it bothers you.”

Before Jaden could respond, a food tray slid onto the table across from them. It was Mia Chen from their English class. “Mind if I sit here?” she asked. “Everywhere else is full.”

“Sure,” Jaden said, relieved for the interruption. Mia was new this year. Her parents were famous too; her mom was a famous chef with her own TV show, and her dad was a well-known surgeon. Maybe that’s why she didn’t treat Jaden like he was different from everyone else.

“Are you guys going to the STEM fair next weekend?” Mia asked. “I’m entering my solar-powered water filter.”

“I didn’t know about it,” Jaden said.

“You should enter,” Mia said. “Mr. Wilson says you’re the best in our grade at engineering stuff.”

“He said that?” Jaden felt a small glow of pride.

“Yeah, you should totally enter.”

The rest of lunch was better as they talked about science projects instead of basketball. But when Tyrell and Mia left for their next class, Jaden had to walk past the basketball players’ table alone.

“Hey, Jordan,” one called. “My dad got tickets to the Bulls game next week. Think your dad could sign something for me? At least someone in your family should be good at basketball.”

Jaden kept walking, his face burning.

Fifth period was English with Ms. Reynolds. They were reading “The Outsiders,” a book about kids who didn’t fit in. Jaden could relate. When class ended, Ms. Reynolds called, “Jaden, could you stay for a minute?”

Tyrell gave him a questioning look, but Jaden shrugged. “I’ll catch up with you.”

When the other students were gone, Ms. Reynolds motioned for Jaden to sit in the desk nearest her. “Is everything okay?” she asked. “You seem down today.”

“I’m fine,” Jaden said automatically.

Ms. Reynolds raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because you’ve been staring at the same page for most of class.”

Jaden looked down at his hands. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Does this have anything to do with the basketball game yesterday?”

Jaden’s head snapped up. “You were there?”

“My nephew plays for Lakeside.” She leaned forward. “Can I tell you something, Jaden? Something not many people know?”

He nodded, curious.

“My mother is Elaine Reynolds.”

Jaden frowned. “The actress?”

“Yes. She won three Academy Awards before I was born.” Ms. Reynolds smiled sadly. “Everyone expected me to become an actress too. When I chose teaching instead, people acted like I was wasting my talent.”

“Did it bother you?” Jaden asked quietly.

“Every day for years,” she admitted. “But eventually I realized something important: her story isn’t my story.”

Jaden thought about that. “But everyone expects me to be like my dad.”

“And what do you want?”

Jaden hesitated. “I love basketball. I really do. But I love other things too. And no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be as good as him.”

“You don’t have to be,” Ms. Reynolds said gently. “You just have to be you.”

The bell rang, signaling the start of the next period. “You’d better get to class,” Ms. Reynolds said. “But Jaden, remember that a name is just a name. It’s what you do with it that matters.”

Jaden nodded and gathered his books. As he headed to his next class, the weight of his last name still felt heavy on his shoulders. But maybe, just maybe, it didn’t have to crush him completely.

The next few days passed in a blur of classes, homework, and basketball practice. Coach Miller worked them harder than usual, preparing for the big game against their rivals, the West Side Warriors.

“They’ve beaten us three years in a row,” Coach reminded them on Thursday afternoon. “This year, we change that.”

Jaden practiced his layups over and over after the regular practice ended. No one was going to mock him for missing an easy shot again.

Friday night arrived, and the gym was packed. Westside Warriors fans filled one side of the bleachers, while Northshore Eagles supporters packed the other side. Jaden spotted his mom in the crowd, sitting with Ms. Patty, their chef. His dad was still in Charlotte, but Jaden was almost glad. The pressure was bad enough without Michael Jordan watching from the stands.

“Eagles on three,” Coach Miller shouted in the pregame huddle. “One, two, three, Eagles!” the team shouted together.

The game started badly. Westside’s point guard, Kevin Williams, was lightning fast and scored 10 points in the first quarter. By halftime, the Eagles were down by 12 points.

“We need to tighten up our defense,” Coach Miller said in the locker room. “And somebody needs to step up on offense.” His eyes swept across the team and landed on Jaden. “Jordan, I’m putting you in to start the third quarter. Think you can handle it?”

Jaden’s heart hammered in his chest, but he nodded. “Yes, Coach.”

When they returned to the court, Jaden could feel everyone watching him. The whispers started as soon as he took his position. “Is that Jordan’s kid? Let’s see if he got any of his dad’s talent.” “I heard he’s terrible.”

Jaden tried to block out the voices. He focused on the ball, on his teammates, on the plays they had practiced a hundred times.

The third quarter was a disaster. Jaden missed two shots and turned the ball over three times. Coach Miller took him out with four minutes left in the quarter, and Jaden slumped onto the bench, his cheeks burning with shame.

The Eagles lost by 15 points. In the locker room, no one spoke to Jaden. He changed quickly and escaped into the hallway, where his mom was waiting.

“You tried your best, honey,” she said, putting an arm around his shoulders.

Jaden said nothing. What was there to say? His best wasn’t good enough. It never would be.

At home, Jaden went straight to his room and fell onto his bed, still wearing his team sweatshirt. He was too tired and disappointed to even change. He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, his phone was buzzing like crazy. Sunlight streamed through his curtains; it was Saturday morning.

Jaden grabbed his phone, expecting texts from Tyrell. Instead, he had notifications from Instagram, Twitter, TikTok, and dozens of text messages from numbers he didn’t recognize.

“What in the world?” he muttered, opening Instagram first. His heart sank as he saw what was trending. Someone had made a video comparing clips of his dad’s greatest moments with footage from last night’s game. Michael Jordan soaring through the air for an amazing dunk, followed by Jaden missing an easy layup. Michael Jordan hitting the game-winning shot in the NBA finals, followed by Jaden throwing the ball out of bounds. The caption read, “Like father, unlike son.”

The video had millions of views and thousands of comments. Jaden scrolled through them, each one worse than the last: “Guess talent skips a generation.” “This is why you don’t name your kid after yourself, MJ.” “Most disappointing sequel since Space Jam 2.” “Poor kid, imagine having Michael Jordan’s DNA and still being this bad at basketball.”

There were some kind comments too, but they were buried under the cruel ones. Jaden threw his phone down on the bed, his eyes burned with tears he refused to let fall.

His phone rang. It was his sister, Jasmine. “Don’t answer it,” he told himself. But after five rings, he picked up.

“Hey, Jay.” Jasmine’s voice was gentle. “You okay?”

“You saw it?” Jaden asked, his voice cracking slightly.

“Yeah, it’s all over the place.” She paused. “It’s not fair, Jay. You’re 14 years old, for crying out loud. Dad wasn’t even starting on his high school varsity team at your age.”

“Really?” That was news to Jaden.

“Really. Did you know he got cut from his high school team as a sophomore? People forget that part of the story.”

Jaden didn’t say anything. It was hard to imagine his dad, the GOAT, the six-time champion, getting cut from any team.

“Have you talked to Dad about this?” Jasmine asked.

“No,” Jaden said quickly. “And don’t you tell him either, please, Jazz. I need to handle this myself.”

“Promise me.”

Jasmine sighed. “Fine, but you should talk to him. He understands pressure better than anyone.”

After they hung up, Jaden lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His phone kept buzzing with notifications, but he ignored it. A soft knock came at his door.

“Jaden?” It was his mom. “Breakfast is ready.”

“I’m not hungry,” he called back.

“You need to eat something, honey.”

Later, he heard her sigh, but she didn’t push it. That’s what he liked about his mom; she knew when to give him space.

When his stomach finally forced him downstairs around noon, the house was quiet. He found a note on the kitchen counter: “Had to go to a charity event. Back by 6. Love, Mom.”

Jaden made himself a sandwich and took it back to his room. His phone showed 27 missed calls and over 100 text messages. He turned it off completely. Instead of checking social media, he pulled out his journal from his desk drawer.

“Dear journal,” he wrote, “today I’m famous in the worst possible way. Millions of people are laughing at me for not being as good as my dad.” He tapped his pen against the page. “What if I quit basketball for real? Would that make things better or worse?” People would say “I couldn’t handle the pressure.” They’d say “I’m a quitter.”

He closed his eyes, remembering how it felt when the ball left his fingertips during a perfect shot—the sweet swish of the net, the satisfaction of a well-executed play. Despite everything, he still loved the game.

“But what if I’m just not good enough?” he wrote. “What if I keep trying and trying and I’m never even close to what he was? What am I supposed to do then?”

Jaden closed the journal without answering his own question. He didn’t have an answer. All he knew was that right now, at this moment, he felt completely alone, like he was standing at the bottom of a mountain everyone expected him to climb without any idea how to take the first step.

Sunday morning, Jaden woke up to the sound of rain pattering against his window. Perfect weather to match his mood. He turned on his phone just long enough to text Coach Miller that he wouldn’t be at practice that afternoon, then he turned it off again before seeing any notifications.

Downstairs, his mom was making pancakes, her Sunday morning tradition. “Morning, honey,” she said, flipping a perfectly golden pancake onto a plate. “Feeling any better today?”

Jaden shrugged as he slid onto a stool at the kitchen island. “I told Coach I’m not coming to practice.”

His mom placed the plate in front of him along with a bottle of real maple syrup. “That might be for the best. Everyone needs a mental health day sometimes.”

Jaden poked at his pancakes. “Did you see the video?”

She nodded slowly. “I did, and I’ve already called the school to talk about their social media policies. What those kids did wasn’t just mean; it was bullying.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jaden mumbled. “The damage is done.”

“It does matter,” his mom said firmly. “And we will address it. But first, you need some time to clear your head.” She checked her watch. “I have to go to a foundation meeting this afternoon. Will you be okay by yourself?”

“I’m 14, Mom, not four.”

She smiled. “I know, just checking.” She kissed the top of his head. “Try to get some fresh air today, okay?”

After she left, Jaden wandered around the big house feeling restless. The rain had stopped, leaving everything outside fresh and clean. On impulse, he grabbed his jacket and headed out to the detached garage at the far end of their property.

This wasn’t where they kept their cars. This was his grandfather’s old workshop, preserved just as he had left it when he passed away three years ago. James Jordan, Jaden’s grandfather, had been a mechanic and handyman before Michael made it big. Even after his son became famous, James kept working with his hands, saying it kept him grounded. He’d taught Jaden how to use tools when he was just seven years old. “Careful hands make careful work,” Grandpa James always said. It was one of the few clear memories Jaden had of him.

The workshop smelled of wood, metal, and motor oil—scents that instantly calmed Jaden’s mind. Tools hung neatly on pegboards, workbenches lined the walls. In the corner sat his grandfather’s prized possession: an old radio he had built himself back in the 1970s. Jaden walked over to it, running his fingers along the dials. It hadn’t worked since before Grandpa James died. Jaden had always wanted to try fixing it but hadn’t found the courage to attempt it.

“Maybe today’s the day,” he said aloud, his voice echoing in the quiet space. He found his grandfather’s repair manuals on a shelf and flipped through until he found the section on vacuum tube radios. The diagrams were complicated, but Jaden had always been good at figuring out how things worked.

Hours passed as he carefully opened the back of the radio, examining the dusty components inside. He made notes in a small notebook, drawing diagrams of how everything connected. When he found a broken wire and a cracked tube, he felt a surge of excitement. “I can fix this,” he whispered.

A knock at the workshop door startled him. He looked up to see Mr. Phillips, their groundskeeper, standing in the doorway. “Thought I saw the light on in here,” Mr. Phillips said. “Your mother called to check on you, said you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Sorry,” Jaden said. “I left it in the house.”

Mr. Phillips nodded, his eyes moving to the disassembled radio. “Your grandpa’s old Zenith, huh? He loved that thing. Used to say they don’t make them like that anymore.”

“I think I can fix it,” Jaden said. “There’s a broken connection and a cracked tube.”

“Well, if anyone can do it, you can,” Mr. Phillips said. “You’ve got good hands, like your grandpa.” He turned to leave, then paused. “By the way, your friend Tyrell has been calling the house. Said it was important.”

After Mr. Phillips left, Jaden kept working for another hour. His hands seemed to know what to do, even with something as old and complicated as the radio. When he finally looked at his watch, he was shocked to see it was already 5:30 p.m. He carefully closed up the radio, leaving his tools laid out for tomorrow. He wasn’t finished yet, but he had made good progress.

Back in the house, he found his phone and saw 15 missed calls from Tyrell, plus a bunch of texts. “Dude, where are you? Are you okay? Coach was asking about you at practice. I need to talk to you. Call me.”

Jaden called him back. Tyrell answered on the first ring. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

“Sorry, I was in Grandpa’s workshop. What’s so important?”

“I’m coming over,” Tyrell said. “Be there in 15 minutes.”

True to his word, Tyrell arrived at Jaden’s house exactly 15 minutes later, out of breath from riding his bike. “Did you see the new posts?” Tyrell asked as soon as Jaden let him in.

Jaden’s stomach clenched. “No, I’ve been avoiding my phone.”

“Good call,” Tyrell said, following Jaden up to his room. “It’s gotten even worse, but also better in a weird way.”

“What are you talking about?”

Tyrell pulled out his phone and showed Jaden. The original video mocking him had spawned dozens of copycat videos, but there were also new videos of kids—strangers—defending him.

“This one has half a million views,” Tyrell said, clicking on a video of a girl about their age. “Leave Jaden Jordan alone,” the girl said to the camera. “He’s just a kid trying to play basketball. His dad is a legend, but that doesn’t mean he has to be one too. How would you feel if millions of people watched you mess up and then made fun of you for it?”

Jaden stared at the screen. “Who is she?”

“No idea,” Tyrell said. “But she’s not the only one.” He showed Jaden more videos, more comments. For every mean post, there seemed to be someone standing up for him.

Jaden didn’t know how to feel. It was weird having strangers talk about him, even if they were being nice.

“People want to hear from you,” Tyrell said. “Your side of things.”

“What am I supposed to say?” Jaden asked. “Sorry I’m not as good as my dad?”

“No,” Tyrell said. “You’re supposed to say whatever you want to say. It’s your life, man.”

Jaden sat down at his desk and turned on his laptop. “I’ve been thinking about that all day.”

“About what?”

“About what I want. Not what everyone else wants for me.” Jaden opened a new document and started typing. The words came quickly, flowing from somewhere deep inside him.

Tyrell read over his shoulder. “Whoa, that’s deep, dude.”

“It’s how I feel,” Jaden said, his fingers still flying across the keyboard. “All this time I’ve been trying to be someone I’m not sure I want to be or can be.”

“So what are you going to do with this?” Tyrell asked when Jaden finally stopped typing.

Jaden stared at the screen, at the words that had poured out of him—words about pressure and expectations, about living in a shadow, about finding his own way. “I don’t know yet,” he said. “But for the first time in a long time, I feel like I have something to say. And maybe, just maybe, people will listen.”

Play video:

Jaden saved the document and closed his laptop. There was more work to be done, both on his grandfather’s radio and on finding his voice. But for the first time since the viral video had appeared, he felt something like hope flickering in his chest. He wasn’t just Michael Jordan’s son; he was Jaden Jordan, and it was time the world knew who that really was.