Before anyone knew his name, Miles McBride’s world was much smaller, quieter. His mornings used to start with the hum of routine, and evenings ended with laughter echoing off kitchen walls. There was a rhythm to the house, unspoken but understood. It wasn’t about rules, just a sense of how things were done. Nothing flashy, nothing forced. Just his family showing up for each other, day after day. You didn’t have to ask twice for help or explain why a win or a loss mattered. That kind of foundation doesn’t make headlines, but it builds something solid. And for Miles, that foundation has always been home. So, come, let’s explore his favorite people.

Who are Miles McBride’s parents? What is their nationality?

Miles McBride’s roots run deep in American soil, full of grit. His parents, Walter and Kim McBride, are both American by nationality. They’re not just from here; they feel like they’re here. Walter’s family history includes a grandfather who was a Tuskegee Airman. That gives us chills. Imagine the stories passed down. Kim’s side is Midwest strong; Ohio born, Ohio raised. Just wonder how much that shaped their son’s toughness on the court. There’s pride in that kind of lineage. Not just athletic, but historic. Walter’s time overseas didn’t change where he’s from. They’re American, through and through, no doubt about it. Ok, so now that we have a small picture of them, let’s look at them in detail.

Who is Miles McBride’s father, Kim?

Walter McBride is the blueprint of his son’s foundation. Back in the 80s, Walter played guard at Xavier. Not flashy, but solid. He averaged close to ten points and led the league in steals once. That tells you everything. He wasn’t chasing stats; he was locking people down. Love that. There’s pride in being “the defensive stopper,” as Walter put it. That grit? You see it in Miles every night.

His game lived in the mid-range. No threes, just clean, 18-foot jumpers, old-school buckets. He laughs when his sons ask, “Where’s the 3-point line?” They don’t get it. Or maybe they do. Because his son plays like that, too. There’s a rhythm to the way he reads space. Doesn’t rush. Like someone who grew up in driveways and gym shadows.

He didn’t just pass down moves; he passed down mentality. Looks like that’s way harder. His father signed with the Indiana Pacers, but didn’t stick. Cut late in camp. That had to sting. But instead of quitting, he packed up and played ten years in Germany. Imagine that. You get cut, and instead of folding, you keep going for a decade. That kind of persistence can’t be taught. Miles must’ve soaked that up.

They talk hoops, sure. But it’s defense where Walter still leans in. “I never talk about his offense, but I do say something about defense,” he said once. He watches Miles and still catches little things, predictable habits, angles, and footwork. That’s a real hoop, Dad. Not yelling from the sidelines, but knowing when to pull you aside and say, “You didn’t see that screen coming?”

Walter coached his kids hard. Like, really hard. “Old school” feels like an understatement. Trash cans flying in drills is kind of old school. But maybe that’s why Miles fits with guys like Huggins and Thibodeau. That hard-nosed, perfectionist edge, it’s familiar. There’s comfort in discomfort when you grow up like that.

And it wasn’t just Walter. His grandfather was a Harlem Globetrotters affiliate. Another grandfather, as we saw, was a Tuskegee Airman. That’s some serious legacy. It’s not just about hoops. It’s about being built from something stronger. That kind of history gives Miles something extra. Something deeper than talent. A reason.

Walter’s voice is big. Deep. The kind that fills a gym. He used to do radio after retiring, which makes sense. He’s got that storyteller energy. Still lives in Cincinnati. Coaches a little. Ref youth games. Stays close to the floor. That’s probably why when he showed up in Vegas during Summer League, all he had to do was whistle. Miles heard it, looked up, and smiled. That says a lot.

The story between them isn’t just basketball. It’s growth. It’s trust. Walter didn’t want Miles to declare early. Told him, “Go back, raise your stock.” But the Knicks hooper said, “I’m ready.” And Walter stepped back. Let him be the man. That’s what fathers are supposed to do. Not just teach. Let go. Miles has a long road ahead with the New York Knicks, but his compass is Walter. Always has been and always will be. Ok, so we are sure that you have a wider picture of him now, so let’s look at his mother.

Who is Miles McBride’s mother, Kim?

Kim McBride doesn’t say much publicly, but her story speaks loudly. She played tennis at Ohio State—Division I, real deal stuff. That tells you she’s competitive to her core. Just wonder what kind of quiet fire Miles got from her. She’s 5-foot-7, not towering, but clearly tough. Tennis isn’t easy, especially not at that level. She knows discipline, pressure, and how to grind alone. That’s a different kind of mental toughness. You’ve gotta wonder how many backyard talks weren’t about basketball at all. Maybe Miles’ calm comes from her. Athletic families don’t just raise talent—they raise belief. Kim’s proof of that. So that’s it about his mother. Now let’s take a look at his siblings.

Miles McBride’s brothers: How many sisters and brothers does the Knicks star have?

Miles McBride isn’t the only athlete in his family. He’s the youngest of three. His older brother, Trey, played college ball at Northwood. Now he’s out in Serbia, playing pro and chasing the dream. Looks like having an older sibling in the game changes everything. You grow up getting pushed around, learning quickly. He is 6-foot-3 and plays the game strong, just like their dad.

Then there’s Kristen, Miles’ sister, the middle one. She’s not on a court; she’s on the court floor, playing volleyball at West Virginia. A senior now. A leader. Just picture their childhood. Backyard battles, trash talk, maybe someone storming off. But also—constant motion, constant support. Families like that just move differently.

She is 5-foot-9, built to jump and dig. That sport doesn’t get enough credit; it’s violent in its own way. We are sure that the discipline rubbed off on Miles, too. Just imagine who actually set the tone in that house. Was it Kristen outworking everyone? Or is Trey going all-in before the others?

Three siblings. Three sports. One tight family. They didn’t just get athleticism from their parents; they got drive. The kind of drive you can’t fake. There’s something powerful about growing up side-by-side, watching each other grind. You either match it or fall behind.

Miles watched both siblings make moves before him. That probably lit a fire. And now he’s making his own name, but you can still feel that trio’s energy behind him. You get the sense they’re not just proud of each other, they’re competitive too. In a good way. A pushing-each-other-harder kind of way. You know what, Miles may wear the Knicks jersey, but he carries them all.