From a foster home to a basketball family, Jose Fudd finds happiness -

Jose Fudd reclined on a couch in his Falls Church home, kept his focus on the floor and let his parents do most of the talking.

Virtually everywhere else, the Marshall High junior is the center of attention. Here, he defers.

His sister is University of Connecticut sophomore Azzi Fudd, the nation’s former No. 1 recruit and now a collegiate star; his mother, Katie Fudd, was an all-American in high school, a three-time all-Big East selection at Georgetown and a WNBA draft pick; his father, Tim Fudd, was an all-conference player at American. Both of his parents are revered local coaches.

Then there’s Jose. The junior is one of the area’s best shooters and defenders, and if the Statesmen (19-3 and Liberty District regular season champions) make a deep postseason run in the coming weeks, he will be an integral reason.

And in this moment, he is happy.

This is a basketball home, and that’s the lens through which he has experienced life. But Jose doesn’t plan to be the family’s next superstar. He has found unconditional love at home and comfort on the basketball court. In this family, he has found peace.

After a chaotic and complicated childhood, nothing matters more than that.

An instant bond

When he was 2, Jose and his older brother, Jon, moved into a foster home with Tim Fudd’s mother. His memories of those years are foggy. Other foster children cycled in and out. It was a loving but hectic environment.

Around the holidays, the Fudds would visit. At the end of the gatherings, Tim’s mother, Georgia, would make a promise to Tim and Katie: One day, when her time on Earth was up, Jose and Jon would be theirs.

The Fudds assumed that was a distant future. Life changed quickly. One week, when Jose was 5, Georgia complained about back problems. The next week she was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer. A month later, Tim pulled the boys out of school. His mother, their foster mom, had died.

After a brief period of uncertainty regarding adoption papers, the Fudds gained custody. Jon and Jose conformed almost instantly in their new world; a change in scenery was nothing new.

“I think they’re very adaptable,” Katie said. “I haven’t met a lot of kids that were in the foster system, but I think you have to be resilient to survive that. They did a really good job when they got here, finding out how our lifestyle worked.”

The Fudds did everything they could to bring stability; it helped that Jose had a brother to lean on, too. Though they attend different schools this year — Jon is a basketball team manager at Wakefield, while Jose transferred to Marshall before the season — they remain as close as ever. In those early, inseparable years, they felt safe.

Azzi’s third-grade teacher brought them Legos. Katie’s parents flew in from Minnesota to help out. And the local sports community, with which the Fudds were already deeply ingrained, showed up whenever they needed support.

“They took us in, and you could tell they were going to do everything — they were going to go to the end of the world — to take care of us,” Jose said. “We were sure we didn’t have to worry about having a new family. That made me feel calm — that this is my life now.”

At home, Jose, Jon and Azzi bonded instantly. Azzi had been an only child, so she welcomed two brothers, and they proved to be the ideal roommates. When she wanted to dress them up in her clothes and makeup or have them play with her dolls, they were willing participants. When Jose needed someone to confide in, he had Azzi. She was introverted; he brought her out of her shell.

Azzi Fudd, one of the most celebrated high school players ever, prepares for a new challenge

“I’m so grateful to be able to call him my little brother,” Azzi said. “It’s a relationship that you can’t fake. I don’t know what I would do without him. It’s hard being away from [Jose and Jon], but whenever I go home, it’s nice to see him, to be annoyed by him and get his hugs.”

They felt most connected in the gym.

After short stints with baseball and soccer, Jose got hooked on basketball in fourth grade. The game felt intuitive. His IQ and budding skill impressed his parents, even though he was rough around the edges.

Like Azzi, Jose picked up the sport faster than his peers. He was fearless in his approach.

Azzi, a two-time All-Met Player of the Year at St. John’s, would practice moves incessantly before testing them out. Jose was even more bullish, coming up with his own bag of tricks on the door frame at home and trying them against friends the next day.

As Jose watched Azzi’s star grow, his relationship with basketball intensified. In middle school, he practiced with Azzi’s team, eschewing high-level AAU ball to develop his craft and mechanics alongside her. When she played, other responsibilities took a back seat. He would leave school early to pass and rebound for her before St. John’s games — and he would joke with her as she shot, loosening her up.

“If she needed help with something, we’d be there,” Jose said. “Seeing her play, it just brings so much joy to me.”

He wouldn’t talk to people about his childhood — and, as an extrovert, he found it easy to make new friends and distract from the topic — but thoughts of being an outsider lingered. When he was on the court with Azzi, those thoughts faded away.

“It’s hard to talk about because I’m not like every other kid,” Jose said of his early childhood. “I don’t want people to feel like I’m a charity case. I don’t want people to feel bad for me because I didn’t grow up like they did. Definitely, there are still some feelings of sadness, not really knowing my birth parents. But I don’t like to dwell on the past. I prefer to think about the present and future.”

Room to grow

Jose can’t help himself on days such as this. The junior finds himself with breathing room at the top of the key, and without hesitation he lets the ball fly over the outstretched hands of a Madison defender in the final minutes of the season opener. Of course, it goes in. Of course, Jose gallops back to play defense — exposing the No. 35 on his back, the same number his sister dons.

He holds three fingers to the roof after his fourth three-pointer of the night.

“That boy can be full of himself,” Azzi said, laughing. “I know it helps him on the court, but that’s where my job comes in. I just humble him.”

This summer, Jose transferred from Wakefield. Marshall had academic opportunities his school did not offer and a familiar basketball environment. He was close with Marshall Coach Jerry Lin and several Statesmen players from AAU ball, so he assimilated quickly.

“First time I met him, when he walked in, he was a goofy dude, screaming for no reason,” teammate Jason Penn said. “Everyone he didn’t know, he introduced himself right away. He’s just a really genuine dude.”

This year, Jose has been essential to Marshall’s operation, which prioritizes ball movement on offense and is holding opponents to 39.5 points per game, the lowest mark in Northern Virginia. Jose is averaging 10.1 points and has made 49 three-pointers on 40 percent shooting; Lin assumes that is a school record.

“People around our family, they say if you can’t shoot, you’re not a Fudd,” Tim said. “There’s a lot more to our games. ... But [four of us] were blessed with great shots.”

For all of their hoops knowledge, the Fudds blend in like any other parents in the bleachers. They cheer but don’t yell or instruct. On car rides home, they’ll keep their analysis brief — just a few minutes to break down the game. They rave about Lin; they’ll let him handle the rest.

Yes, Tim and Katie say they’re in coach mode 90 percent of the time. Certainly, that applies to teaching their son basketball minutiae: tweaking his hand placement, making sure he keeps his body lower, preventing an initial dip on his jump shot. But for the most part, they want their son to gain life lessons from the structure of their lives.

“Sports teach you a lot about how to handle success and failure and how to have perseverance and all that stuff,” Katie said. “It didn’t have to be basketball. It could have been any sport. But you have to find something you’re passionate about, and it’s got to be your passion.”

When Jose was 12, he saw kids running around unsupervised in the rec center while he was supposed to be practicing. Katie saw his eyes wander and told him, “That isn’t going to be you.”

It wasn’t said maliciously, even if a young Jose thought so. But it was meant as a lesson: It isn’t always about instant gratification but what you need to do. Jose calls himself a social butterfly. He gets energy from being around others, and basketball provides an outlet. But there’s still a balance he’s looking to strike. The hardest part, these days, is convincing Jose to work on his craft in quiet hours.

“Once he does figure that out, he’s going to be amazing,” Katie said. “When we’re hard on him with his decision-making in and out of the house it’s because he has so much greatness ahead of him.”

Tim and Katie say they aren’t easy parents, but Jose doesn’t necessarily see them that way. They’re trying to raise a captain. He’s trying to do his best by them.

“I can thank them later by being successful,” he said. “When I say they’re my therapy, if I’m having a bad day, I can go home and talk to them. They’re always looking over me — my sister, too. If I’m having a bad day, I’ll call her. It just makes me feel loved.”

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