How do you summarize the life of a superhero? How do you describe a person you’ve never met but knew to the core, like a family member? Kobe Bean Bryant was a family member. Not just to me, and not just to the basketball community — to everyone. He was bigger than basketball. He was immortal. He is immortal.
I met Kobe once, well kind of — January 29, 2010.
My brother Brendan and I were in the arena early for a Lakers-Sixers game in Philly. Our Dad got us some sort of special pre-game access and I knew this was my chance to meet the Mamba. When we got in the arena, there was one player warming up. Naturally, it was Kobe Bryant. I had my photo of him ready to be signed, ready to be added to my collection. We quickly hustled over to the visitors tunnel where Kobe was finishing up his workout routine and signing an autograph for a young girl. Brendan and I stuck out our photos. Kobe paused for a moment, looked up, made eye contact with me and proceeded to make his way into the locker room.
I haven’t thought about that moment much until now. Outside of basketball, Kobe was a family man. Sure, he had his flaws, but we all do. It’s what makes us human. Everything he did was for his daughters. You’ve seen the countless videos in the wake of the tragedy — you can’t escape them. They’re heartbreaking. But as I reflect on this moment of when I came face to face with Kobe, it’s the only thing that makes sense in the aftermath. Everywhere he went, he carried his girls with him. He could relate to the young girl in front of me that night.
When I got the phone call that Kobe had passed, my instant reaction was simply pure confusion.
What do you mean Kobe died? ….Bryant? What?
Even just typing what I blurted out makes no sense. And it never will. He was in my life from the moment I picked up a basketball. I don’t know what it is without him. Kobe grew up watching and emulating Michael Jordan. I grew up watching and emulating Kobe Bryant. There was a connection to him that everyone felt. People weren’t Lakers fans, they were Kobe fans.
Kobe made me proud to be from Philadelphia.
He’s reason I play every game of pick-up basketball like it’s my last. The reason I play on sprained ankles, wearing Kobe’s.
We watched him grow up, from Shaq, to 60 points in his final NBA game all the way to winning an Oscar.
We watched him transition, from NBA icon, to fatherhood. He was just getting started and there was no limit on what he could, and would have accomplished. Kobe had a whole second act to show the world. Mamba Mentality wasn’t just who he was on the court, it was the way he lived his life off it. Everything he did, he did to be the best. The best Father, storyteller, motivator. The list goes on and on.
It’s all so impossible to comprehend. If you can find solace in anything, it’s that we’re all in this together. There’s an emptiness within every single person right now. You can’t explain it, there’s no need to. It doesn’t make sense and it shouldn’t. It’s OK to breakdown. It’s OK to cry. It’s OK to text that friend you haven’t seen in awhile and check in. Everyone is feeling the effects from this unspeakable tragedy of Kobe, Gianna, and the 7 other passengers on board that morning.
As I sit here, in Los Angeles, trying to process it all, I simply cannot. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve tried to write this piece because it’s so inexplicable. I get side tracked, check Instagram and see a tribute to Kobe. I check twitter and watch a video of him giving advice to his daughter, Gigi. I look outside my window and see someone wearing a No.24 jersey. Each time, my heart drops. Each time, tears stream down my face. I don’t want to believe it’s real. It can’t be. Back to typing. I see Kobe’s smile so vividly. I hear his calm voice so loudly in my ears. I picture him hugging his four girls.