#GirlDad

Like the rest of the world, I was shocked and saddened by the news coming out of Calabasas, California last weekend. Kobe Bryant—the retired NBA superstar, a name synonymous with talent and dedication—was killed in a helicopter crash. The breaking news popped up on my iPhone, and my knee-jerk reaction was to gasp and say, “Oh shit! Kobe Bryant is dead.”

In disbelief, my husband immediately scanned all news outlets looking for a confirmation statement. Twitter seemed to have crashed, as did TMZ’s website—the celebrity rag that reported the incident first. “It’s gotta be fake,” he said, as all the sports networks were silent on the report. It wasn’t until we turned on CNN did we believe it.

And the news got increasingly worse.

This was no recreational joy ride. It was a carpool of sorts for nine individuals, headed to the Mamba Sports Academy in Thousand Oaks for a girls basketball event. On board that doomed flight were Bryant’s 13-year-old daughter, Gianna, her two teammates and their parents and coaches.

Let that sink in for a second, taking the notoriety of Kobe Bryant out of it.

These parents were doing what all normal parents do on the weekend; they were carpooling their children to their extracurricular activities. This tragedy wasn’t a result of a reckless decision. No, it was something so mundane, normal and relate-able. It was probably a trip they did every week. Something that they probably would’ve done again this weekend without issue. That’s what makes what happened so much harder to grasp—because so many parents can put themselves on that helicopter. To think what was going through those parents minds, as the realization of the inevitable hit, is gut wrenching—too much for me to even articulate. It’s every parents worst nightmare.

As the hours and days passed, the outpouring of grief was insurmountable. Celebrities and normal people alike were shook by the news. Stories about Kobe started to circulate; stories about his unbelievable basketball career, his accolades, and his life post-NBA. You couldn’t go out in public, turn on the news or go on the internet without being saturated with something Kobe related. This is usually the norm when someone of note passes away. And for me it was interesting to learn a little more about the man behind the Mamba.

I’ll never claim to be a huge sports fan. But I knew about Kobe. A true-blue Philadelphia, Kobe was one of ours—his father played for the 76ers in the late 70’s and Kobe went to Lower Merion. Due to this, Philadelphia has always had a love/hate relationship with Kobe. Especially in the scope of the 2001 NBA Finals, where Kobe and his Lakers faced off with Allen Iverson’s 76ers. I have very strong memories of that championship series—I remember being at my eighth grade formal during game 5 and the DJ letting my class know the stats throughout the dance. Kobe dashed our dreams that night, and left a foul taste in the mouths of many 76er fans for years to come. But no one could deny his greatness. And when he played his last game in Philly before he retired in 2016, the city treated him like the prodigal son that he was.

His career on the court was legendary. He’s right up there with the likes of Michael Jordan. And his second act was shaping up to be even more impressive—he won an Oscar in 2018 for a short animated film that he wrote and voiced, and his dedication to youth sport programs was a credit to his name. But in every post-retirement interview I came across, he said again and again that his proudest accomplishment was his family. Specifically his four daughters.

And obviously I relate to this more than anything.

I came across this mash-up of interviews and wanted to share:

“I love having girls,” he told Jimmy Kimmel. Aside from his outlook on women empowerment and inclusion, Kobe’s response hit me in a very personal way because it’s something my father has talked about again and again over the years.

Having four daughters himself, he’s almost constantly asked, “How do you handle having four daughters?” His rehearsed reply is very simple; “I talk to the cat a lot. He’s a boy.” All joking aside, my dad always says he’d never want it any other way. “I love my girls and anything I would’ve done with a son I did with them.” Which is the truth. There were no gender norm activities in my house—I knew how to bait a hook before I could tie my shoes. Every Sunday while my Mom slept (she worked twenty-four shifts on the weekends), he’d take me and my sisters on adventures. We’d go to the sports field by our house with a bat and a baseball and he’d teach us to run the bases. We’d hike into the woods, looking for creeks to skip rocks or new places to fish. We’d run and play, never worrying about mud or mess. On the opposite spectrum, he was Mr. Mom. He cooked, cleaned, carpooled to our dance classes and music lessons, took us dress shopping, and even learned how to do our hair—something he never quite perfected and we still give him crap about. My grandmother always said she didn’t know how he became so maternal. But life gave him no other option, and he’s loved every minute of it.

Tragedies like this tend to shine a positive light on aspects of someone’s life that normally never would’ve seen the light of day. And although the circumstances are horrific, Kobe Bryant died being a #girldad and he instantly became their champion. He will always be remembered for his accolades on the basketball court, but to his daughters he wasn’t the Mamba of legend. He was just dad. In death, he empowered men from around the world to stand up and be proud of raising daughters and not giving in to gender stereotypes.

And no disrespect to Kobe, but Bob Steinmetz is the ultimate #girldad. He’s had that title locked down since 1984.