My grandmother and, and her father actually started a scholarship

When Spencer Dinwiddie, the gifted basketball player and entrepreneur, said, “My grandmother and her father actually started a scholarship program in our church, you know, obviously, before I was born. And then my mom also owns a preschool, so, you know, education and giving back are just kind of in, in the genes, in a sense,” he spoke not only of his family’s legacy, but of a sacred truth that runs through the ages: that wisdom and generosity, when passed from one generation to the next, become a living inheritance greater than gold. Beneath his words lies the ancient rhythm of lineage—the idea that virtue, once rooted in a family’s heart, flows through its descendants like a river that nourishes all who drink from it. His statement is not a boast, but a quiet testament to the power of education, of service, and of heritage carried in the blood and spirit.

To understand the origin of this wisdom, one must first know the man who speaks it. Spencer Dinwiddie was raised in a family that valued knowledge as much as achievement, humility as much as success. His grandmother, long before his fame, sowed seeds of hope in her community by founding a scholarship program—a bridge for the young to cross from aspiration to opportunity. Her father, before her, shared that same conviction: that the surest way to lift a people is not through wealth or charity alone, but through education, which multiplies both dignity and potential. Then came Dinwiddie’s mother, who continued the lineage of nurture by owning and running a preschool, shaping minds in their earliest and most impressionable years. From this tapestry of giving, he emerged—a man who understood that greatness is not measured merely by what one earns, but by what one returns.

When Dinwiddie says that education and giving back are “in the genes,” he does not speak merely of biological inheritance, but of spiritual inheritance. The ancients would have called this the transmission of virtus—the quiet passing of moral strength, from heart to heart, across generations. For just as one generation plants trees whose shade they may never sit beneath, so do the wise cultivate virtues they may never fully see bloom. In his family’s acts of generosity, we see the continuity of legacy—the invisible hand that shapes a lineage not of wealth, but of goodness. This kind of inheritance cannot be stolen or spent; it is the wealth of the soul, eternal and self-renewing.

Such generational virtue finds echoes throughout history. In the ancient world, the philosopher Aristotle was mentored by Plato, and he in turn taught Alexander the Great. The wisdom of one teacher became the compass of an empire. In a different age, Mary McLeod Bethune, born to parents who had once been enslaved, founded schools and institutions to educate young African Americans, planting seeds of empowerment that would bloom for generations. She, too, understood what Dinwiddie’s family embodies: that to educate is to arm others not with weapons, but with tools of liberation. It is to give a gift that does not diminish when shared, but grows stronger with every mind it touches.

In Dinwiddie’s reflection there is also a deeper truth about community. His grandmother’s scholarship program, born within the walls of a church, reminds us that education is not only an individual pursuit—it is a sacred act of collective responsibility. The church, in this context, becomes more than a house of worship; it becomes a house of learning, of shared upliftment. For when a community invests in its youth, it invests in its own future. The young who are taught with love and discipline return as leaders, teachers, and dreamers. Thus, giving back is not an act of charity—it is the fulfillment of a covenant between generations.

The wisdom of this quote also speaks to the modern soul, often distracted by the pursuit of personal achievement. Dinwiddie reminds us that true greatness lies not in isolation, but in continuity. We are each born into stories older than ourselves, and our duty is not merely to succeed, but to extend the virtues we inherit. Education, in this sense, is not only about books and classrooms—it is about character, empathy, and the courage to share what one has learned. To “give back” is to recognize that no man rises alone, and that every success carries a responsibility to lift others.

Let the lesson of Spencer Dinwiddie’s words, then, be this: nurture the virtues that were given to you, and pass them onward. If your ancestors planted the seeds of kindness or learning, water them with your own deeds. If no such legacy was left to you, begin one—so that your children may one day say, “It is in our genes to give.” Support education, not only with money, but with time, mentorship, and belief in the young. For every child who is taught, every dream that is encouraged, is a thread woven into the vast, enduring fabric of humanity’s progress.

Thus, in the spirit of Dinwiddie’s family and their living example, let us remember: wealth fades, fame withers, but education and service are eternal. They are the twin flames that light the path of generations yet to come. To teach, to give, to build—that is how one becomes immortal. And so, may each of us live in such a way that our descendants can say, as he once did, that generosity and wisdom are not things we learn by chance, but treasures written in the very genes of our souls.