Stephen Curry Searched for This Homeless Man for 13 Years — What He Found Will Break Your Heart | HO!!!!

It’s impossible to describe the emotion that filled the gymnasium that day. Steph Curry, NBA legend, stood holding the hand of a man who seemed to have stepped out of a dream—or a nightmare that had lasted thirteen years.

Tears streamed down both their faces as silence hung heavy, a thousand unspoken words pressing in on everyone present. But to understand how Steph and Robert Kim arrived at this heartbreaking moment, you have to go back, long before the victories, before the fame, before Curry became a household name.

Oakland, California. The year was 2010. Steph Curry was just 22, not yet the icon he would become, but a young man with hopes and doubts, walking familiar streets, the smell of breakfast still lingering in the morning air. Oakland breathed basketball. Every corner echoed with the rhythmic bounce of balls on asphalt, every court carried the dreams of boys hoping to make it to the NBA someday.

It was a cold December Tuesday when Steph passed the corner of 14th Street and Broadway. The city’s chill carried the scent of determination, a feeling only those who have lived in Oakland can truly know. Sitting on a worn wooden bench was a man who would change Steph’s life forever.

Robert Kim, 45, sat with disheveled graying hair and a battered military coat that spoke of stories no words could capture. An Iraq war veteran, Robert’s eyes carried the weight of someone who had seen too much. Sometimes, people enter our lives at the exact moment we need them most.

Steph was struggling. He’d just been dismissed from his college team, doubts hammering at his mind. Was he good enough? Would he ever achieve his dream? Robert looked up as Steph passed, and something unexplainable happened—an instant connection, as if two souls recognized each other.

“Hey, kid,” Robert called out, his voice rough but gentle. “You play basketball, don’t you?”

Steph stopped, drawn in by something familiar in Robert’s tone. “How do you know?” he asked.

Robert smiled, a smile warmer than any blanket on a cold day. “By the way you walk, boy. Basketball players have a different gait. Confident, but hungry to prove themselves.”

That was the beginning of a friendship that would blossom against all odds. Robert became a lighthouse in the storm of Steph’s uncertainty. Every Tuesday and Thursday, Steph would pass that same corner. Robert was always there, always with encouragement, always with a different perspective on life.

“You know what your problem is, Steph?” Robert said one afternoon, the aroma of coffee from a nearby diner mixing with the city’s noise. “You’re trying to be perfect. But basketball, like life, isn’t about perfection. It’s about resistance.”

Robert shared stories from the war—not the trauma, but the lessons about teamwork, about never giving up when things got tough. Steph absorbed every word. The warmth of Robert’s wisdom heated his heart in ways he couldn’t explain.

Months passed. Robert followed Steph’s progress from a distance, cheering every small victory. When Steph finally secured a spot with the Golden State Warriors, Robert was the first person he sought out to share his joy. “I knew it, kid,” Robert said with that now-familiar smile. “I always knew you’d make it.”

But life, as always, is unpredictable. In March 2011, Steph returned to the corner of 14th and Broadway as he always did. The bench was empty. The next week, the same. A month passed. Robert Kim had vanished.

Steph asked around—local merchants, other homeless people, even the police. Nobody knew where Robert had gone. It was as if he had evaporated. Sometimes, someone’s absence screams louder than their presence. The silence of that empty bench echoed in Steph’s ears for years.

Robert had become more than a friend. He was a father figure, a mentor, someone who believed in Steph when Steph couldn’t believe in himself. How could someone so important simply disappear without a trace?

Steph searched everywhere: shelters, hospitals, veterans’ organizations. He persisted. But it was like searching for a needle in a haystack the size of California.

And so began a search that would last thirteen long years.

By 2024, Steph Curry was an NBA legend, a family man, a global icon. But the void left by Robert remained. Every victory, every trophy, every moment of glory felt incomplete. Every night, after games, Steph would look out the window and wonder, “Where are you, Robert? Did you know I never stopped looking?”

The search became a sacred obsession. Steph assembled a small team dedicated to finding Robert Kim. They combed through hospital records, shelters, veterans’ organizations, even morgues. Every clue was followed with the precision of a detective and the hope of a child waiting for Christmas.

It was on a rainy Tuesday in January that everything changed. The smell of rain on San Francisco asphalt brought back memories of those Oakland mornings. Steph was in his office when the phone rang. On the other end was Jennifer Walsh, a social worker in Los Angeles.

“Mr. Curry, I think I have information about the person you’ve been looking for.”

The world seemed to stop. Jennifer explained: Robert Kim, a war veteran now about 58, had arrived at the Veterans Affairs Medical Center in Los Angeles six months ago. He was in a delicate condition, facing battles no one should face alone—severe post-traumatic stress disorder. After leaving Oakland, Robert spent years wandering, fighting demons the war had planted in his mind. There were periods when he didn’t even recognize himself.

Steph’s heart broke. He’d imagined a happy reunion, but never considered that Robert might be fighting a silent war inside his own mind.

But then Jennifer said something that made Steph’s heart race. “Robert talks about you constantly. In moments of lucidity, he tells everyone about a young basketball player he met in Oakland. He says that young man was special, that he would go far, that he had a heart the size of the world.”

Steph’s tears flowed. “Does he remember me?”

“More than that, Mr. Curry, he’s proud of you. Every time he sees you on TV, he points and says, ‘That’s my boy. I always knew he’d be special.’”

Steph couldn’t wait another day. He flew to Los Angeles, each mile an eternity. At the VA Medical Center, Jennifer met him. “Robert’s having a difficult day,” she warned. “There are moments when he’s present, but also moments when he’s lost.”

Steph nodded, bracing himself. He entered room 3104. Robert sat in a rocking chair, looking out the window. Time had been cruel: his hair now white, his face marked by invisible battles. He was thinner, frailer, but there was still a spark in his eyes.

“Robert,” Steph whispered.

Robert turned slowly, confusion flickering across his face. “Do I… know you?”

Steph’s heart shattered. But then he remembered Robert’s words: “Basketball, like life, isn’t about perfection. It’s about resistance.”

“My name is Steph,” he said softly. “Steph Curry. We met in Oakland. You used to sit on a bench at 14th and Broadway.”

For a moment, Robert’s face remained neutral. Then, a light returned to his eyes. “Steph,” he whispered. “My basketball boy.”

Steph sobbed. “Yes, Robert. It’s me.”

Robert stood, impossibly strong, and opened his arms. “My boy. You grew up. You became exactly what I knew you’d become.”

Their embrace was more than a reunion—it was the healing of a wound that had bled for thirteen years. “I looked for you every day,” Steph said.

“I know, son,” Robert replied, holding Steph’s face with trembling hands. “Somehow, I always knew you’d find me.”

Jennifer watched, unable to contain her own tears. Steph promised Robert, “I want to take care of you. I want you to come live with me, with my family. You’ll never be alone again.”

Robert smiled, that same warm smile from Oakland. “You’d do that for an old man like me?”

“You changed my life when I needed it most. Now it’s my turn.”

True love doesn’t count time, doesn’t measure distance, doesn’t calculate cost. It simply exists, pure and unconditional.

In the weeks that followed, Steph organized everything for Robert: the best PTSD specialists, a comfortable home, and most importantly, a family. With love and care, Robert began to have more lucid days. He started attending Steph’s games, not from a lonely hospital TV, but from the front row, wearing a shirt that read “Curry’s Dad.”

Their story spread, not just because of Steph’s fame, but because it touched something universal—the need to belong, to be remembered, to matter. Robert became a beloved figure in the basketball community. On good days, he gave talks to young athletes about persistence, about how a single encounter can change two lives forever.

“The secret isn’t being perfect,” Robert would say. “It’s being present. It’s not giving up on the people we love.”

Steph discovered that saving Robert had, in fact, saved a part of himself. The guilt he’d carried for thirteen years transformed into gratitude. Together, they founded the Kim Curry Foundation for Vulnerable Veterans, helping hundreds find not just shelter, but belonging.

Today, when Steph makes an impossible shot, he looks to the front row and sees Robert applauding with pride. And when Robert struggles, Steph is there, holding his hand, reminding him of who he is.

From a cold Oakland corner to the heart of the NBA, their journey teaches us that some people enter our lives for a reason. And when we have the chance to return that gift, we discover that caring for those who cared for us is one of life’s deepest experiences.

Steph Curry searched for Robert Kim for thirteen years. When he found him, he realized the man who had saved his career still needed to be saved. But the most beautiful truth is that, in the end, they saved each other—and that mark will remain forever.