I did not cry when I heard that Kobe Bryant died.

Sure, I yelled his name like every other basketball-loving kid in America when I threw up a 25-footer at my local court. But I’d also learned about his infamous sexual assault trial in 2003, while the media often painted him as having an overinflated ego and a hyper-competitive spirit that made him difficult to play with. Though time seemingly wiped that image away, I made the unconscious decision that I was not, and never would be, a Kobe fan.

It wasn’t until his death that I realized the lines of morality I had drawn were shallow. I put him on a pedestal and evaluated him as a figurative being, not a real person. I realized I needed to see out of purple and gold eyes – see him as a champion, storyteller, philanthropist and father.

On Jan. 31, I went to Staples Center for the first Lakers home game since Bryant’s death. I was expecting to take a few photos, share some thoughts with fans and look at memorabilia. What an understatement.

In front of Staples Center were tens of identical billboards stretching out in front of me, all covered head to toe in the same sentiments and prayers for a man most had never met yet worshipped nonetheless. Stunned and slightly overwhelmed, I turned to the right, upon which I noticed the plaza of LA Live covered like a beehive in golden jerseys, all clustering around the sides of the square. I saw a sea of flowers, basketballs, posters and candles stretching the length of a city block. Nearly every square foot of concrete was sprayed with graffiti dedicated to Bryant.

A security guard stationed at the plaza’s entrance told me that this same mass of mourners had been here every day – 7 a.m. until midnight – since Kobe’s death.

At this point, I understood. History would take its time to judge Kobe properly – survivors of assault can speak from their viewpoint much more eloquently than I ever could, while his family can attest to his character. Yet what would never change was the spirit of a man who embodied such a mindset of profound will and dedication that those who watched him play, speak, coach and parent felt like they knew him personally.

As chants from the thousands of people who’d packed themselves into the plaza started up, I flung my voice into the mix.

“KO-BE! KO-BE! KO-BE!”