Every player’s got someone in the stands they want to impress. For Bobby Portis Jr., it’s never been a scout or a coach—it’s always been his mother, Tina Edwards. He could be down twenty, shots not falling, teammates off rhythm—but she’s watching. Always. And not only watching, either. She’s locked in like it’s her heart out there on the court, too. “She’s my hardest critic, but at the same time, I feel like that’s a blessing because at least I have a mom that watches the game.” This is how he describes her.

There’s something honest about that kind of love—the kind that doesn’t just clap when you score, but leans in when things fall apart. You can almost picture Tina there, in the game, still yelling through the TV. And he’s listening. Because when she talks, he knows it’s coming from the heart—and from someone who’s always been in his corner. And to have a bigger picture of her, let’s take a deeper look into the mother-son’s beautiful relationship.

Who is Bobby Portis Jr.’s mother? Exploring Bucks star’s childhood stories.

There was no big plan. No blueprint. No five-star camps or shoe deals. Just a mom, a kid, and a basketball hoop in Arkansas. Bobby Portis Jr.’s mother, Tina Edwards, didn’t dream of raising an NBA player—she dreamed of raising a good man. But somewhere between school drop-offs and shifts at the local bread company, she did both.

The Milwaukee Bucks’ power forward/center was barely crawling when his father walked out. Tina was 21 and had just left her basketball scholarship behind, and was suddenly a single mom with a baby and no real safety net. “It was just him and I from right at a year of his life,” she said. From that moment, she decided she’d be both his parents.

She didn’t shelter Bobby from the real world—she introduced him to it. They’d be outside in the yard, tossing baseballs, shooting hoops. “I did everything with Bobby,” Tina said. She saw something in him early. Not just talent—drive.

Bobby was emotional on the court, even as a kid. In seventh grade, he got a technical and fell apart mid-game. Tina didn’t coddle him, “I told him, ‘I’d rather see any other kid on the court than you acting like that,’ ” she said. That’s the kind of tough love that stuck.

She was old-school like that. Tina gave permission to coaches like Corliss Williamson—“Treat him like he’s your son.” She knew Bobby needed guidance, but she also knew when to push and when to pull back. She never let him forget where he came from or what it took to get there.

Ok, here we have a little backstory. When her son punched his Chicago Bulls teammate Nikola Mirotic in 2017, she didn’t flinch. “Mom, I hit Niko,” he said over FaceTime. Her first thought wasn’t about headlines. It was about him. His job, future and his heart. “Everything’s running through me on what’s going to happen. Is he going to be in the league? Is he not going to be in the league? What they’re going to do, what the punishment [will be]? Everything.”

She even gave her the best advice. She told him to stay off social media. Sent Bible verses. Texted encouragement. And when he said, “How can I keep my head up when I don’t know what’s next?”—she kept showing up anyway.

Through all the noise, Bobby could still hear her voice: Go harder. He still hears it now. “She likes basketball a lot,” the hooper said. “That was her first love, and I feel like she’s living her dream through me.” The game that brought her joy became the same one that gave Bobby purpose. And when she couldn’t finish her story on the court, she helped him start his.

Tina didn’t raise a star. She raised a hard worker. Someone who doesn’t flinch under pressure. Someone who knows failure, learns from it, and comes back swinging. A person who doesn’t forget who helped him lace up in the first place. “I saw her grind it out each and every day to provide,” he said. That grind? It lives in him now. Every hustle play, every rebound, every minute played like it’s the last—that’s Tina, too.

She doesn’t get to all his games. As she still has a job, still runs a house. But she’ll be yelling at the TV, coaching from the couch like he’s still a kid in her front yard. And for Bobby, no matter how far he’s gone, he still calls home. They don’t always agree. She’s still his hardest critic. But they talk every day. Because it was never just about basketball. It was about the two of them—facing the world, together. So, now that we have looked at his mother, let’s take a look at his father.

Who is Bobby Portis Jr.’s father? Where is he now?

Bobby Portis Jr. doesn’t talk about his father much—and there’s a reason. Bobby Sr. left when his son was just months old. Since then, he’s popped in and out—barely four times. A quick visit when Bobby was in first grade. A week in fourth grade. Once again, when he turned 18. That’s it.

He lives in Alabama now and has reached out a few times, but Bobby hasn’t responded. There isn’t much of a relationship to rebuild. As Tina, Bobby’s mom, once put it: “He knows it’s too late to be a father now.”

It’s less about anger and more about time and distance. Bobby’s life moved forward without him—through basketball, challenges, and growth. That absence left a space, but it was filled with other things: discipline, resilience, and drive. It’s understandable why Bobby has chosen to keep his distance. Some connections fade, and that’s okay.

So, now you have a clear picture of his parents, right? So let’s move on to his siblings.

Who are Bobby Portis Jr.’s siblings?

Bobby Portis Jr. isn’t the only big guy in the family. He’s got three younger brothers—Jarod, Jared, and Jamaal. All three are built like ballers, each standing over 6-foot-2 and weighing 220-plus. You walk into a room with them and you’d notice.

Jarod’s the oldest of the trio and now coaches basketball at Jacksonville High. Before that, he was a student manager at the University of Arkansas. Safe to say hoops runs deep in their blood. Jared and Jamaal are still coming up, but they’re already making noise.

What’s cool is how close they all seem. Not just brothers—more like teammates in life. Just imagine how wild their backyard games got growing up. Probably some broken fences and bruised pride. But hey, that’s how bonds get built. Bobby’s the oldest, but he’s part of the Portis crew—and together they move like a unit.