Grandfather knew best.

NBA superstar Chris Paul writes a heartfelt tribute to the patriarch in “Sixty-One: Life Lessons from Papa, On and Off the Court.” The book, done with the assistance of Michael Wilbon, comes out Tuesday.

Paul, a 12-time NBA All-Star and two-time Olympic gold medalist, currently plays for the Phoenix Suns (though trade rumors for the veteran point guard have been heating up in recent days). There’s plenty here for basketball fans to dissect as Paul dives into the details of some games, especially early ones.

Yet this is far more about who Paul is. And why.

His grandfather and his parents instilled the values he’s passing on to his children. The lessons are simple. Be respectful. Work hard every day. Then, do it again and try even harder. Paul recognizes that his early years, helping his grandfather at the service station, learning how to hustle, and knowing his way under a hood gave him a strong foundation.

Paul’s grandfather, Nathaniel Frederick Jones, also known by the family nickname, Chilly, was born and raised in Winston-Salem, N.C. He was a trailblazer and a community builder, a font of sensible advice, and a kind man who helped others without expecting payback. A mechanic by trade, he owned a Chevron station.

“As far as we knew, his station was the first Black-owned gas station in North Carolina,” Paul writes.

True, he had another service station, Jones Gulf, earlier. But he rented that business, and his efforts to buy it were fruitless since a white landlord refused to sell it to a Black man.

“Papa was a worker, a real grinder — he didn’t believe in handouts, he knew that by working hard he could make his dreams come true, and that’s what he did after building his business,” Paul writes. “He patiently waited for a service station to become available, closed the doors to Jones Gulf, and signed the mortgage on Jones Chevron. His own mortgage. And he was damn proud of it.”

It became not just a source of pride but a resource for the community. Friends hung out there, older men chatting. When someone needed a car repair and couldn’t pay, Jones fixed it, and the customer could pay later. He gave people jobs and, even more importantly, taught them skills. Paul can still fix brakes.

Paul mentions his grandfather’s hands a lot and how they were stained by the work. What never escaped the grandson was how much skill was in those hands.

“I know I keep talking about my Papa’s hands, but that’s because they truly represent his hard work, his labor, and the legacy he built for us,” Paul writes. “Sometimes I feel the same way about myself. I’ve had four hand surgeries. I’ve got the scars to prove it. At this point, my hands are evidence of the work I’ve put in and what my hands have helped me achieve on the court and in my career. They’ll never be as tough as Papa’s, but they’re definitely cleaner. It’s different, but it all means the same thing: hard work.”

Hard work and family are threaded through every page. Paul, also known as CP3 because his father and brother have the same initials, grew up loved but with expectations. His family attended church all day on Sunday, he worked, did his homework, and played ball, first competing against his older brother. There wasn’t a lot of time left over for nonsense.

Paul’s extended family attended games to cheer the McDonald’s All-American. During the years he played for Wake Forest University, the team took its first No. 1 ranking. Paul continued to rack up wins. He credits everything to lessons learned from his family, emphasizing that hard work is at the core.

Even at 38, after a lifetime of demanding so much of his body, Paul continues to put in the tough workouts. Then, he plays hard.

“No one is going to take my job because I’m not working hard enough to keep it,” he writes.

“The work says more about someone than all the meaningless talk, hype, or anything that only shines on the surface. Hard work is my preferred language, and I try to speak it fluently.”

The title refers to a very special game, and one anyone would have understood had Paul skipped it. At 17, the day after burying his beloved grandfather, Paul still took the court for West Forsyth High School. Until this game, his grandfather was always in the bleachers.

Paul scored an astonishing 61 points with assists from his teammates. Breaking Michael Jordan’s high school record was within reach. Paul, though, left it at 61, so it would match his grandfather’s age.

In front of his community, Paul recalls taking “the deepest breath I’d ever taken. … Without getting into my free throw shooting motion, I picked up the ball and threw it directly out of bounds.”

And he left the court for his father’s arms, where he had a good cry.

Jones was one of those people who helped those who crossed his path, yet he was murdered — likely for the wad of money he carried. He liked to be paid in cash. Paul recalls that night in chilling detail. He had been at a football game to watch his friends play when his brother, already in college, called to say their mom said their grandfather was sick.

Then, Paul ran into a cousin at the game (he has a big family and deep roots in North Carolina). The cousin immediately blurted, “They killed him.”

The reality didn’t hit until they pulled up to his grandfather’s house and “saw nothing but police lights.” And even then, it did not immediately sink in. This was so senseless; Paul knows his grandfather would have given the murderers his money.

“The kids, maybe from my area and maybe not, tied his hands behind his back and duct-taped his mouth shut before viciously beating him in his head and on his face with metal pipes,” he recounts. “As if he were the bad guy, as if he were the one blocking their hopes and dreams, as if he would ever do anything to harm them, as if he weren’t an elderly deacon who worked hard at taking care of his family and community.”

This book has an earnestness; the lessons he learned and wants to impart apply to anyone. Paul stresses what he saw his grandfather and parents do: work hard. And he knows that while that’s admirable, it’s not enough to guarantee that life goes as planned.

You don’t need to be a basketball fan to relate to Paul. He speaks honestly about being a father and husband. Here, he’s talking to his children about George Floyd’s murder.

“As much as people see me on TV wearing a jersey with my name on the back, as soon as I step out of that arena, I am no longer Chris Paul, the NBA player,” he writes. “I’m just another Black man like any other, especially to a white cop.”

While everyone knows Paul — you don’t earn his stats and go unnoticed — reading this reveals who he is, the man his grandfather helped form.

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