After a terrifying car crash, Gilbert Arenas shares emotional details on son Alijah’s recovery and the heroes who saved him.
There are moments when the game stops. When rankings and recruiting buzz dissolve into the background, and all that matters is breath, heartbeat, and the sound of a father running toward his son. Nearly two weeks ago, Gilbert Arenas lived that moment.
His son, Alijah — a five-star recruit, a 16-year-old phenom with USC dreams — was in a medically induced coma after a horrific car crash. The former NBA All-Star could only watch, wait, and hope. And then, remarkably, the story turned. From silence, came breath. From fear, a second chance.
A Father’s Worst Morning
It began like any other morning in the Arenas household — early and routine. Gilbert, always vigilant, opened the Tesla app to check where Alijah was. The gym, it said. All good. But then his daughter walked in, and the world shifted.
“You haven’t heard?” she asked.
No parent wants to hear those words. Not at 4:30 a.m. Not ever.
Gilbert Arenas shared an update on his son, 5-star USC commit Alijah Arenas, following a car accident 2 weeks ago. pic.twitter.com/O9LEZV5cGl
— Dan Patrick Show (@dpshow) May 6, 2025
Gilbert sprinted to the hospital, questions flying through his mind, panic in his chest. Was it his car? Was it even Alijah? The app had misled him. The gym location was false. In truth, Alijah was unconscious, having been trapped inside his mangled Tesla Cybertruck after veering off the road, hitting a fire hydrant, and colliding with a tree.
Gilbert Arenas Talks About Son Alijah’s Car Crash With Dan Patrick
His injuries weren’t visible — no broken limbs, no burns. But smoke, insidious and silent, had filled the cabin, and Alijah had inhaled it for nearly 10 minutes. He was alive, but struggling to breathe. Doctors placed him in a medically induced coma to stabilize him, to let his lungs heal. Gilbert, helpless but hopeful, waited beside his son.
It was the longest wait of his life. And then, slowly, Alijah began to wake.
Angels on the Roadside
It wasn’t just machines and medicine that saved Alijah. It was strangers — or as Gilbert calls them, “angels.”
In the early morning stillness, a small group of bystanders heard the crash. They could have stayed in bed, dismissing the noise. But they didn’t. They followed the sound and found a scene of devastation. The Cybertruck, with its futuristic design, offers no traditional door handles. Powerless, its doors are impossible to open from the outside.
But somehow, those bystanders got to Alijah. They pulled him from the wreck. They gave him a chance before first responders ever arrived.
Gilbert is still in awe. “Lucky for him,” he said, “trapped inside of a car for so long, it’s lucky there were people that heard it that early.”
Alijah was disoriented and fighting. His strength — the same force that made him a top recruit — made him thrash awake. Doctors sedated him to protect him, to treat the smoke damage, to help his lungs.
But without those early heroes, Gilbert knows the outcome could have been far different. In a moment that could’ve ended everything, it was humanity — quick, quiet, selfless — that made all the difference.
The Laugh That Signaled Healing
Recovery can take many forms. For Alijah, it wasn’t a step or a breath that signaled hope — it was a joke.
Lying in a hospital under the UCLA medical umbrella, Alijah cracked a smile and told his dad: “Tell Mus I’m sorry I’m at UCLA.” Humor. Presence. The essence of a teenager coming back into his own.
For Gilbert, that laugh was everything.
Kids these days forget that Gilbert arenas was actually nice in the league and not just funny on social media lmao pic.twitter.com/jEFEDoRtdt
— John (@iam_johnw) April 8, 2020
Gilbert Arenas Talks About Son Alijah’s Car Crash With Dan Patrick
Alijah had just wrapped up his junior year at Chatsworth High. The 6-foot-6 guard was one of the most coveted prospects in the country, courted by blue bloods like Kentucky and Kansas before choosing to stay home with USC. His future was mapped out — court dreams, bright lights, national stages.
And yet, none of that mattered more than a single breath. Than waking up. Than joking with dad.
He’ll return to basketball — that much seems certain now. The body is healing. The spirit never left. But what lingers isn’t his Rivals ranking or his commitment status. It’s the reminder that life, for all its promise, is fragile. And that sometimes, being No. 4 in the nation is far less important than being able to look your father in the eyes — and smile.
