Caitlin Clark stood at the edge of Carver-Hawkeye Arena, the familiar hum of the Iowa crowd washing over her. It was May 2025, and though she was now a star for the Indiana Fever, this court still felt like home. The preseason game against the Brazil National Team was moments away, but her mind wasn’t on the scoreboard. It was on her father, Brent Clark, sitting courtside, his proud smile tinged with a quiet weight she’d noticed more often lately.
Brent had always been her rock—cheering at every Iowa game, offering advice during her whirlwind rookie season, and even calling out WNBA refs when he felt they missed a call. But recently, he’d been quieter, his usual fire dimmed. Caitlin had sensed it during their late-night talks, when he’d reminisce about her childhood games in Des Moines, his voice catching on memories of simpler days. She hadn’t pressed him, but tonight, seeing him in the stands, she knew something was off.
The game tipped off, and Caitlin played with her usual flair—16 points, six rebounds, five assists, leading the Fever to a 108-44 rout. The crowd roared as she drained a three, but her eyes kept darting to her dad. After the final buzzer, she jogged over, ignoring the media swarm. “Dad, you okay?” she asked, searching his face.
Brent hesitated, then sighed. “Just feeling my age, kiddo. Been a tough few months.” He didn’t elaborate, but his eyes spoke of sleepless nights and worries he hadn’t shared. Caitlin’s heart sank. She’d been so caught up in her WNBA rise—breaking records, dodging rivalries with players like Angel Reese—that she hadn’t noticed how much he’d been carrying.
They sat in the empty arena, the echoes of the game fading. Brent talked about the pride he felt watching her become a global star, but also the fear of not keeping up with her world. “I just want you to know,” he said, voice thick, “no matter how big this gets, I’m always here.” Caitlin hugged him, tears stinging her eyes. She realized then that her strength on the court came from him, and she’d been too focused on her own battles to see his.
The next day, Caitlin posted a simple message on X: “Family first. Thanks, Dad, for everything.” Fans flooded the comments with support, sensing the depth behind her words. Back in Indianapolis, she made a promise—to check in more, to listen, to carry him like he’d always carried her. As the WNBA season loomed, Caitlin knew her greatest assist wouldn’t be on the court, but in being there for the man who’d made her a star.
