Carrie Bickmore on unrealised childhood dreams
In the wake of the death of Kobe Bryant, Carrie Bickmore has opened up about why she believes we mourn the loss of public figures who inspire us.
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Kobe Bryant is one of those rarified names the whole world just knows.
But before he and his daughter Gianna died last month, I didn’t realise the true enormity of his emotional reach, and ended up caught in the ripple of shock that spread across the world.
Dads online started urging other men to hug their daughters a little tighter. Murals went up as makeshift shrines in neighbourhoods all over the world.
The New York Times encouraged teenagers to send their thoughts on what Kobe’s death meant to them. It was one of the biggest responses they have had to any online forum, as kids searched for catharsis for the loss of their idol.
It’s difficult to know why the deaths of people as “big” as Kobe affect us so dramatically.
A sharp reminder of the indiscriminate reality of death – no amount of money, fame, skill or power makes you indestructible. Despite what we saw on the basketball court, not even Kobe Bryant was superhuman.
My mates imagined themselves in his shoes countless times, yelling “Kobe!” while mimicking a jump shot. They recited his career stats: “One day he scored 81 points in a game.” There was genuine grief.
After he died, I watched the Oscar-winning short film he narrated, Dear Basketball. It was a thank you to the game that had given him so much.
It made me cry thinking of his widowed wife and children, but also imagining this basketball-playing behemoth as an innocent six-year-old boy with seemingly unreachable dreams.
Below is an edited extract from Dear Basketball, a poem Kobe wrote on his retirement in 2015 for The Players’ Tribune, upon which the film was based.
From the moment
I started rolling my dad’s tube socks
And shooting imaginary
Game-winning shots
I fell in love with you.
As a six-year-old boy
Deeply in love with you
I never saw the end of the tunnel.
I only saw myself
Running out of one.
And so I ran.
I ran up and down every court
After every loose ball for you.
Because that’s what you do
When someone makes you feel as
Alive as you’ve made me feel.
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Heroes are so important. Their stories give us hope as we shoot hoops in the backyard or sit for hours in front of a piano. They’re a promise of what might be.
While I never dreamed of shooting three-pointers (I hoped to take centre stage in my pointe shoes), the reality is not many people get to realise childhood dreams.
It’s sad, but life gets in the way. Responsibility, expectation and the need to pay bills means chasing dreams is either impossible or deemed irresponsible.
It’s one of the reasons people adore the Kobes of this world. A part of our own unrealised dreams live on in them. It’s why their deaths are felt so starkly.
A little part of our dreams die with them. But his passing is a reminder that it’s never too late. We should go about everything we do like that six-year-old version of ourselves chasing a dream.
You gave a six-year-old his Laker dream.
And I’ll always love you for it.
But my body knows it’s time to say goodbye.
And we both know, no matter what I do next
I’ll always be that kid
With the rolled up socks
Garbage can in the corner
.05 seconds on the clock
Ball in my hands.
5... 4... 3... 2... 1.
Carrie co-hosts The Project, 6.30pm weeknights on Network 10, and Carrie & Tommy, 3pm weekdays on the Hit Network.