I didn’t watch much basketball growing up, but for the little that I did, I loved two people. The first was Micheal Jordan, and the second was Kobe Bryant.
He was a part of my youth, if for no other reason than the yellow Kobe kicks I cherished and protected with my life. I could hardly dribble a basketball and somewhat looked like one, but I enjoyed sporting those shoes.
When I first heard what happened, it was through a messaged rumor; Kobe is dead. Later, more established sources confirmed the fact and I learned that he wasn’t alone and that a total of nine people had perished. I said a prayer for Kobe and wondered who these “others” were.
A few short hours passed and instagram exploded with stories about “mamba mentality” and how sad people were over his demise. I too am sad that Kobe is dead; but honestly no more than I am for Gianna, John, Keri, Alyssa, Sarah, Payton, Christina or Ara.
These were the people who were on the helicopter with him; people who matter too. You hear about them to an extent, but they are a side note in comparison. Not famous or glamorous enough for our attention, we nod that they died and return to crying over Kobe.
It makes me wonder why it means so much more to be a celebrity? We can appreciate how he inspired us, but the reporting of the calamity and the subsequent social media blitz seemed distastefully skewed.
A human life is a human life.
Many people die everyday in our cities, and most go as ignored as those on the Calabasas helicopter. They all had something special about them, and added value to the collective human experience.
If half of the energy used to display online grief was expended picking any one of Kobe’s causes and supporting them in his name; that would be so much more meaningful.
My prayers go out to the deceased; I will mourn them in private. Links to some of his charities are in the comments. If you would like to support a good cause, his cause; donate what you can.
~Frumi
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