Who Are Julian Strawther’s Parents? Everything You Need To Know About the Denver Nuggets Star’s Family and Background

“My whole family, we all grew tighter,” Julian Strawther says. “We all had that sense of feeling that loss, and we all had to come together and bring everybody back up.” You can picture it, late nights in that Vegas house, the noise turned down, the weight of something unspoken hanging heavy in the air. No one said it out loud, but everyone felt it. And somehow, instead of falling apart, they pulled in close. Maybe it was the kitchen battles with his siblings, or it was that the house became a huddle. A team. Everyone had a role.

That closeness didn’t just happen—it was earned, moment by moment, game by game, hallway hug by hallway hug. And from that kind of bond, you don’t just walk away unchanged. However, with that, let’s explore more about the family that helped shape the Denver Nuggets star. Their stories, their bond, and how they became his first real team.

Who are Julian Strawther’s parents? What is their nationality?

Julian Strawther’s story starts with his parents, Lee and Lourdes, who are also his first coaches in life. Lee, an African-American, knew struggle up close. “Literally just trying to survive,” he said, after moving the family across cities to escape hate. His own father had stood for Rosa Parks, sided with Dr. King, and made enemies for it. That fight didn’t skip a generation. Lee raised Julian with his eyes open.

“He knows that he always has to do more,” Lee told the Las Vegas Review-Journal. “You have to be more aware of your surroundings and extra careful of the things you say and the people you say it around. You have to be careful if you want to go on a late-night run to 7-Eleven because you want some soda and chips.”

Meanwhile, Lourdes, a Puerto Rican, gave her son a different kind of power. Culture. Belonging. Because of her, he didn’t just make the 2019 FIBA team, he made it count. Playing for Puerto Rico wasn’t a favor. It was family. This is how he feels playing for Puerto Rico: “Puerto Rico came to me with an opportunity (and a) guaranteed spot on two rosters. At this point, I felt like it was the best opportunity to just get some FIBA experience.” The words feel so pure.

Together, Lee and Lourdes didn’t just raise an athlete—they raised a young man who knows exactly who he is. Their heritage didn’t just shape his identity. It sharpened his instincts. Would Julian be talented without them? Probably. But without them, he’s not this. His game isn’t just skills, it’s survival, pride, and purpose passed down in every word they said. So, now that we have a small picture of them, let’s look at them in detail.

Who is Julian Strawther’s father, Lee?

Lee Strawther is his son’s steady heartbeat behind the story. A quiet figure in the stands, always watching, always knowing when to step in. He’s the guy who still keeps that replica ball from Julian’s 51-point HoopHall Classic game. It sits as proof—his kid made it, and he helped build that.

But Lee’s not just a proud dad with souvenirs. He’s been in the trenches since day one. Thirteen years ago, he was just trying to find a new AAU team for his daughter. That’s how he stumbled into a lifelong partnership with coach Reggie Reed. Julian didn’t even want to play that day. “We shoved him out there,” Lee said. “He started playing with the guys and never looked back.”

Lee was there for every painful dribble, every curse word Reed threw at his son when he slipped up. He didn’t shield him from the hard stuff. He knew better. Like that halftime game in junior high when Reed screamed at Julian and Hill: “Ya’ll going to blow this game off.” They didn’t. They came back and won. Lee saw what it meant to be held accountable.

He’s the kind of dad who flies to Puerto Rico just to support, then fights with his son when Julian decides to walk away from the national team. “We battled, battled, battled,” Lee said. “I said, ‘You’re going to have to man up.” No easy exits. No soft landings. Just growth. Julian slammed the car door, walked to the coach’s office, and told them he was out. Then he booked his own $800 ticket home.

That moment said everything about who Lee is. He doesn’t chase dreams for Julian, he teaches him how to own them. When the hooper hit a wall, Lee didn’t step in to fix it. He watched his son flick the switch. “I’m not doing this again,” Julian said. And Lee knew that this was different.

He’s also the guy who notices when the weight lifts. “This is the happiest I’ve seen him in a while,” Lee said. “He’s playing free, not worried about what people say.” That kind of freedom doesn’t just show up. It’s earned, layer by layer, by people like Lee, who’ve stood behind you.

It’s easy to cheer when your kid drops 30. It’s harder to stand back when he’s about to fall. But Lee’s done both. He didn’t just raise a player. He raised a man who could walk away from something good, just to chase something great. And that takes more than love—it takes vision. So, that’s it about his father, but we are still left to look at his mother.

Who is Julian Strawther’s mother, Lourdes?

Lourdes “Cookie” Strawther was loud, proud, and all heart. If you were at a game, you didn’t need to ask where she was—you just listened. “The main thing about my mom,” the hooper says, “is you knew she was there because she was the loudest person in the gym by far.” He’d barely touch the ball, and she’d already be screaming. Didn’t matter if he scored or not. She was there, and he felt it. That feeling never really left him.

Julian was just nine when breast cancer took her. Way too early. She and Lee had been married for 20 years. A solid, loud, loving family. Then suddenly, a huge part of that was missing. But not really gone. If you ever notice, there’s a tattoo on Julian’s arm now: it’s her name, a cross, and a pink ribbon. But it’s not the only place she lives.

There’s an old camcorder in a bag at his sister’s place, Disney trips, games, all of it. And then there’s that wide, contagious smile Julian wears so often. “That’s something I get from her,” he said. Scroll through his social media. It’s always there.

Her Puerto Rican spirit still burns in him. Loud, joyful, proud. Julian represents Puerto Rico now because of her. “She’s really, really, really Puerto Rican,” he said. “That’s like their main personality trait.” He knows how much it would’ve meant to her. That’s why he does it. For her. When he steps on the court, she’s there. Not just in memory, but in mission. In that smile. In that fight. She’d be the loudest voice in the arena today if she could. “He just wants to make her proud,” Lee said. That hits different. You can feel it.

Losing her was the wound. Basketball became a healing. Not an escape, but a promise. One he keeps chasing every time he plays. Lourdes wasn’t just Julian’s mother, she was his first crowd, his biggest fan, and the spark that lit him up. That kind of love never fades. So, now you know about his mom, too. But there’s one more part from his childhood we need to explore, his siblings.

Julian Strawther’s Brothers: How many brothers and sisters does the Celtics star have?

Julian Strawther didn’t just grow up with siblings, he grew up with teammates, rivals, and protectors. He has two sisters: Paris and Paige. Both older, both fierce. Paris is the hooper, the one who really pushed him. She played college ball at UNLV, racking up over 100 games, three years as a starter. Julian was just the little brother chasing her shadow around the kitchen floor.

Their games were legendary, at least to them. The microwave set as the shot clock. Nerf hoop. Tennis ball. “Microwave as a shot clock… 5, 4, 3, 2, beep,” Lee said. Paris always won. Every time. “I never won one time,” Julian admitted. “Never even got close.” And when he lost, he always cried. Maybe throw a punch. Classic sore loser energy. But deep down, he loved it. Still does.

“When I was younger, I always wanted to be like her,” he said. Paris was stronger, smarter, faster. She set the bar. That tennis ball dribbling? It’s where he got his handles. If you can dribble a tennis ball, you can handle anything.

But the games were more than just games. After their mom, Lourdes, passed in 2011, everything shifted. Paige and Paris stepped in—more sisters, less play. “We call him our son, too,” Paris said. That hit. It wasn’t just about keeping him company—it was about keeping him whole.

They helped raise him. Held things together when life broke apart. Paige, the oldest, doesn’t have much out there publicly, but make no mistake, she’s part of the glue. The kind of sister who probably skipped her own heartbreak to make sure Julian ate, got to school, and stayed focused. That’s real.

They’re still tight. Still a unit. A “super tight-knit family,” Paris said. You can feel it in how they talk about each other. In how Julian carries himself. You don’t survive that kind of loss without a crew. And for Julian, that crew starts with Paris and Paige.

Lee may be Dad, but those two are the real backup. The bonus parents. The built-in safety net. It’s no surprise that Julian turned out grounded, driven, and full of love. He’s been raised by a village, and those sisters, they’re the heart of it.