Kobe Bryant: A Sum of his Parts
How do we grapple with a life that inspired so much joy, but also brought about pain?
It’s taken me a little while since the news broke about Kobe Bryant to come up with the words to write. Admittedly, I’ve kept up with the tributes, montages, and remembrances for him, his daughter, and the seven other victims in the horrific helicopter crash. There’s been a careful balance — a dichotomy, you might say — between Kobe the unwavering, ruthless basketball poet and Kobe the accused perpetrator of sexual assault. It’s that legacy that has left me so out of breath in the wake of the tragedy.
Yet, I suppose that it’s time to actually grapple with the death at hand. While I’ve been waiting for a Dr. House-esque text like “I didn’t die, you idiots!” alas it doesn’t seem as if it is coming — which means that I finally have to come to terms with both Kobe Bryants.
Kobe Bryant, the basketball player, was unlike a player I had ever seen. To me, he was the first of his kind because I was too young to remember the good years of Michael Jordan. All I had was Washington Wizards’ Michael Jordan.
And, let me tell you, I hated Kobe Bryant.
When Kobe and Shaq began their treacherous run that ultimately culminated in a three-peat, I was livid. All I…
