Kobe.

Kobe passed away yesterday.

It gutted me.

I spent the rest of the day on Twitter. Scrolling through a stream of disbelief in my feed. Absorbing new details from the accident. Taking in official announcements, hastily written in memoriam articles, emergency basketball podcasts, and impossibly long career highlight videos.

24-hours later, I’m still gutted.

Celebrity deaths are weird to begin with. I’m young enough that I haven’t actually experienced that many. Michael Jackson, Robin Williams, Anthony Bourdain come to mind.

At risk of sounding insensitive, these deaths had very little impact on me. These were not people I had grown up with, or had a deep personal connection to. They were names in my cultural lexicon. The best of their careers had come and gone by the time I was old enough to appreciate them. And so my appreciation of them was almost historical, even when they were still alive.

Kobe is different. Was different.

And that difference isn’t unique to me. The outpouring makes it all too clear, that difference is commonplace.

I grew up with Kobe. We grew up with Kobe. Our generation grew up with Kobe.

Kobe Bryant was the heir apparent to Michael Jordan. The 90s had Jordan. The 00s had Kobe.

And that was true whether or not you actually liked Kobe. And I’ll be the first to admit: I didn’t like Kobe.

I rejected his shoot-first style, and resented his inspiration of a generation of one-on-one players. I assumed he was selfish, that his pursuit of greatness was for personal glory. I considered him egotistical, too proud to share LA with Shaq. I thought he was arguably the most overrated player in the league, lauded for scoring stats, isolated playoff moments, and a larger than life personality.

But he was a deity.

I might have hated Kobe, but he was still a god.

That much was undeniable. Whether I liked it or not.

He truly did inspire a generation of players. He truly did achieve greatness and glory. He truly couldn’t have shared LA. He truly was larger than life.

Kobe was the player I loved to hate. And I truly loved to hate him.

Then Kobe retired.

He retired at a time when I was finally coming into my own. An adult human. With mature thoughts, and feelings, and perspective. Even with a hint of self-confidence and personal identity.

And so I continued to watch Kobe age into retirement. Say goodbye to the sport he loved, and gracefully transition into other passions. Into media. Into business. Into ambassadorship.

And into fatherhood.

It was seeing Kobe in fatherhood that flipped my script. I watched him with his daughters, and of course with GiGi in particular.

Kobe in fatherhood shattered any previous notions I had that he was selfish, egotistical, and overrated. With his daughters Kobe was nothing but loving, invested, and patient.

And undeniably devoted. Devoted not just to his daughters, but to his daughters dreams and passions. Their dreams had become his dreams, and their passions had become his passions.

I respected that of him so much. More than I ever would have admitted.

I have long struggled with emotionality.

But Gianna’s passing, in the arms of her adoring father. It has transcended tragedy.

Once upon a time I hated Kobe. I respected him, but I hated him.

No more.

Kobe, you are loved.

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