Less than three years ago,

life was normal for Ken and Jeanie Redick. They could walk in a

crowd without hearing strangers opine about their son. They could watch a

basketball game in near anonymity. Strangers did not call them on the phone,

hoping to just chat a while. The only people coming to their house were invited

guests.

That was then. Now, life is

different. Jeanie calls it "surreal."

Now, their son J.J. Redick

is one of the best-known college basketball players in the country. He is both

loved and hated by legions of basketball fans who, despite the fact very, very

few of them actually know him, think nothing of sharing their opinions in all

manner of ways.

They think they know J.J.

They think they know Ken and Jeanie. They don't. They couldn't. And if they

did, those fans would know Catie and Alyssa, David and Abby – the other kids

in the Redick brood. J.J. is one of five, the middle child; he might be the only

one to date who has been the topic of articles in both "ESPN Magazine" and

"Sports Illustrated," but, "he's just J.J. to me," Jeanie Redick says.

The road trips to watch the

kids play in far-flung gyms began long before J.J. took up residence in

Durham

. Twins Catie and Alyssa, both Division I basketball players at

Campbell

University

from 1997-2001, were playing sports all over the map before J.J. started

competing on AAU teams.

Fast forward to present. J.J.

is well-known by all sports fans. But to Ken and Jeanie Redick, it's just as

important that one of them be in the stands when David and the Cave Spring

Knights play, even if it's on the same night as a Duke game.

Jeanie's calendar tells the

story: 31 days in January, 28 nights of basketball. That's commitment.

That's value on the family. That's the Redick family.

Jeanie Redick's 2000 Honda

CRV has 135,000 miles on the odometer. She and Ken log over 35,000 miles

annually and have for years, but they're not complaining. "We hope it

continues for at least nine more years," Ken says, meaning they will see Abby,

their youngest, through four years of college.

Still, the traveling is the

same – although Duke is about an hour closer than

Buies Creek

,

N.C.

, where

Campbell

is located. The difference is the attention brought to a family that is close,

devout, and doesn't really want attention.

There was a time when Ken and

Jeanie Redick thought nothing of wearing a blue shirt to a basketball game. Then

they went to a game at

Maryland

where they were cussed, harassed and told, in no uncertain terms, what the

Maryland

student body thought of their son. When J.J. Redick led Cave Spring to a state

title his senior year, the number of opposing fans who threw objects at the

Redicks was exactly zero. Division I college hoops is a different level.

Still, the fact that opposing

fans would take umbrage with J.J. and, by extension, his parents, is not a

complete surprise in the world of college basketball—especially not college

basketball at its highest level. The surprising part was the amount of invasion

visited upon the Redicks by admiring fans.

Consider the night Jeanie

Redick decided they needed a new phone number. They had a number easily

obtainable through directory assistance, a number they had for several years.

Then one night, a 78-year-old man from

Arkansas

called, just hoping to chat about J.J. He said he was J.J.'s biggest fan, not

knowing that this self-appointed title had been claimed by dozens of other

callers. One lady from

South Carolina

said she realized that, as J.J.'s parents, Ken and Jeanie might think they

are J.J.'s biggest fans, but they're wrong, she is his biggest fan.

Still, the man in

Arkansas

pushed this ridiculous situation past the breaking point. "I didn't want to

change our phone number. It was ours. I liked our number," Jeanie says. Still,

there simply isn't time in their lives to sit down and chat with a steady

stream of strangers about their son's exploits.

Surreal? Consider this. While

waiting to talk to J.J. after a Duke game in

Durham

, a friendly lady struck up a conversation with Jeanie. "Did you get much snow

up your way?" the lady asked, speaking to Jeanie as if they were old friends.

Jeanie replied that it wasn't much, but it could be hazardous because her

family lives "on the side of a mountain."

"I know," the friendly

lady responded. O.K., that seemed odd, so Jeanie took it to the next step.

"How do you know?"

"Because I've been by

your house," was the answer.

This troubled Jeanie because

the Redick's don't live on

Maple Lane

or any other suburban street with crossroads at the end of the block and lots

of neighbors.

"We live at the end of a

dirt road," Jeanie says. "You don't just go by our house."

To think that there are Duke

fans out there willing to traipse around the back roads of

Roanoke

County

in hopes of finding the Redick's house is – well, "surreal" is as good

a word as any. Creepy would work. Downright scary, if the lady was a Tar Heel

fan.

Never did Jeanie Redick dream

she would be in an airport and overhear a conversation about her son. Did she

say anything?

"No. I never do. I like to

be anonymous."

It's an odd situation for

the Redicks. Ken was a college basketball player at Ohio Wesleyan. He has a

basketball build, so it's not hard to figure out who he is. Still, like

Jeanie, he prefers to be anonymous. If Jeanie hears others talking about J.J.,

she won't identify herself. Ken says he usually doesn't, but he might. "We

learned what it is like to walk into an arena in Duke blue," he says.

Hearing all those opinions

– good and bad – took some adjustment. "We've struggled with it and

resolved it," Ken Redick says. He says J.J. has been shocked by some of the

things he's heard, but has learned to use the negative energy as a motivator.

And he certainly gets plenty of positive energy from Blue Devil fans. At Duke,

the basketball team has its own mail room due to the volume of fan mail the

players get. Much of that came to the Redick's home after J.J. started making

an impact his freshman year. At first the Redick's thought they could keep up

with it, but there was so much they had to have it forwarded to Duke, where

there are people whose job is to handle that sort of thing.

Around

Roanoke

, the Redicks are still Ken and Jeanie, professionals who work every day and

have demands on them above and beyond being parents to athletes, but they are

parents first.

"Most people are

well-meaning and supportive," Ken Redick says. "We live in a great

community. At times we've relied heavily on people to help us.

"If we've done one thing

well, we've let our kids dream," he says.

Says Jeanie: "I would never

have said to J.J. 'Only one in so many people ever get to play pro ball so you

have to be realistic.' Life will make things realistic. I think all parents

should believe in their kids."

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