Kenny Smith & the Fake ID

January 7, 2020

As I was writing my story a while back about getting a fake ID in New York City, I was thinking, are fake ID’s still a thing?  I really don’t know.  It would seem like technology today would be more advanced than fake ID makers can keep up with.  But that said, there’s always an effort to skirt around the system whenever the system ups its game.  Sometimes it doesn’t even require a higher level of technology.  Sometimes it’s just counting on the laziness of others.

About a year after I got my fake ID in New York, I lost it at a waterpark.  I know, not exactly the most cinematic exit to such a great souvenir.  It’s not like I got to use it for any great capers or anything.  I think the most I got to do with it was get into 18+ clubs at the age of sixteen.  Not that I didn’t enjoy every second of that.  But it’s a far cry from getting a credit card, renting a convertible and touring the countryside staying at lavish hotels.

Fast forward to age seventeen, senior year of high school.  I worked at a drug store doing the one-hour photo development.  For those too young to know what that means, I don’t have time to explain the whole thing.  Just know that cell phones have not always existed.  Before I move forward with this story, I want to preface this with the fact that this was an age where my life was devoid of most sports’ engagement.  This may be hard for some of you to believe, but I wasn’t playing sports in high school anymore, and the only pro sports I watched was football, and the Cowboys were sucking (no current day jokes please).

One afternoon, a guy walked up to the counter with a couple of purchases.  No big deal, not much of a conversationalist.  He wrote a check for the purchase.  Again, for those of you unfamiliar with what a check is, ask your folks.  All I can tell you is it requires you to show your drivers license with it, which he did.  Once the purchase was done, he quickly grabbed his bag and left.  No more than twenty seconds later, I saw that he left his ID on the counter.  I darted out the door to catch him, but he was gone.  I figured if he didn’t come back for it, I’d look up the address on the ID and mail it back.  I looked at the ID, Kenneth Smith from California.  As I studied the ID to figure out what to do next, I started making a few connections:  it’s a Black guy, super generic name, he’s twenty-five years old, he has my haircut and skin tone.  Sure, he’s a couple inches taller than me, but other than that, I had just found me a new fake ID!

Needless to say, requests for my “assistance” kept my weekends pretty packed the whole school year.  Friends having parties would ask me to get the beer all year long.  Getting in 18+ clubs with friends and I’d get us all our drinks.  And it worked like a charm without question.  Dark dance clubs, bubba beer stores, anything.  No one ever questioned it.  The laziness of others was a beautiful thing.

That Christmas, we went to North Carolina to spend the holidays with family.  Dozens of cousins coming and going ranging from middle schoolers to grown with their own kids.  My cousin Steve is the one I’d say I’m closest to on my mom’s side, similar age, interests and what not.  At one point we were trying to figure out something to do.  I pulled him aside in his room, and without saying a word, I showed him my fake ID. 

Steve: Oh my God!  You got Kenny Smith’s driver’s license!

That was not the reaction I was expecting.  He had no interest in the fact that it was a 25-year-old person.  He was more interested in the Kenneth Smith guy, or Kenny as Steve called him.  Somehow, I got the impression that I was supposed to know who he was too.

Me: Umm, yeah.  Kenny Smith.  Can you believe it?

Steve: How’d you get it?

I told him the whole rather boring story, which he listened to with great interest.  Once I was done with the story, Steve began rambling about Kenny this and Kenny that.  After a few startling clues, I gathered he was a basketball player that played for the Tar Heels and at that time played for the Sacramento Kings.  The more Steve talked the more I couldn’t believe nobody ever realized who my ID was for.  Then again, I hadn’t known either.  So, go figure.

I won’t go into the embarrassing method in which I lost possession of the ID, but once I was in my twenties, the real Kenny Smith was off winning championships with the Houston Rockets.  He has now become the face of the TNT broadcast team NBA on TNT.  One day a few years ago, I felt the need to email Kenny and let him know about what I did.  I felt the need to come clean.  So, I did.

Me: Kenny, I don’t know if you’ll remember this or not.  Back when you were playing for the Kings do you remember losing your driver’s license in Dallas?  I assume you were in town playing the Mavericks but I don’t know.  Anyway, I was the cashier at the drug store you left your ID at.  I would like to say thank you for that.  I was 17 yrs old and that was my fake ID for about a year!  You got me into a lot of clubs!  Don’t worry, I didn’t break any laws (besides under-age clubbin’) in your name.  I’ve been waiting over 10 yrs to express my gratitude.  Anyway.  Thanks again!

After I hit send, I immediately panicked, thinking what if he doesn’t find this so funny?  What if he thought I intentionally stole the ID?  Granted, it was well over ten years later.  But still.  Seven long hours later, a reply.

Kenny: Now that’s funny.  Hope you weren’t drinkin either!! I hope I don’t have any little Kenny’s I don’t know about!!!  hahaha

A wave of unexplained relief washed over me, then a smile.  These days whenever I see Kenny racing Barkley or Shaq across the set, I think back to all the times I danced until 2am under his name.  But the main thing I realize now is, boys do stupid shit.

-TGY-