More than anything, Derrick Rose was – to me and millions of others who were often too marginalized to understand – a reflection. Not about his career or his life, but about life. From me. From so many others. From us.

Not specifically what we see when we look in a mirror, but rather the reflection that the world interprets when someone like us rises, shines and ends. Not in death, but in calling. When the vessel we were put on earth to serve comes to an end. When the first circle closes. When the purpose begins.

“Derrick Rose Night,” which took place Saturday at the United Center, wasn’t about the night itself. It’s not about a jersey retirement. Not about a possible statue in the atrium. It’s not even about the city saying “thank you” or apologizing (you know who you all are) to the “1” who introduced us to a new version of hope.

Only to see that hope lost. From him and us.

An evening where we finally got to hear Rose express, for the record, how he made us – this city, this basketball Gotham – feel for a short time.

You see, acceptance is different than confirmation, which is different than confirmation. Many of us long for each of us and burn for all three once we discover our purpose. However, all of them differ from love. Saturday was an attempt to make Derrick Rose feel all four.

Until you raised, were around, fathered, had uncles and coached young black men, now in their 20s and early 30s, who played basketball or just loved the game, who spent their childhood in Chicago, you had no idea , inkling, insight, or first-person account of what Derrick Rose really means. I have no idea how, even if he’s not as great as Michael Jordan, he could be as influential and arguably more important than Mike when it comes to basketball in this city.

Like here he’s Kobe to Magic in LA

I first met Rose during his first year at Simeon, an encounter we discussed five years later during his rookie season with the Bulls.

“Do you remember what you said to us when you and coach (John) Chaney (of Temple University) talked to us?” he asked me as we walked up the stairs of the Berto Center, past one Picture of Jordan.

“I do,” he continued without me answering. “And I remember every word you said.”

He was 20 years old at the time and about to lead the Bulls to their first playoff run, leading the team in scoring. That was before he won Rookie of the Year that season. He allowed me to call him “Pooh” because he knew I knew.

He saw his reflection in me. I saw mine in him.

That’s how he and I grew. Separate and yet in harmony. Since I was 20 years older than him, he was the step ahead he could get behind. Mine with a pen, his with a ball. Remember every step, remember every word.

We defended his imperfections because we knew so many who had no hereditary connection to our origins and who blamed him for these imperfections. In a life where we don’t strive for perfection, we simply search for light. A light that shines for us, a light that guides us, a light that sets us an example and makes us human. Knowing that black perfection is possible in America, but it comes with a price imposed by those who are not us or are unable to do what some of us do.

It was this underlying contempt that made “Derrick Rose Night” so special. More than a ceremony.

It was everything that happened outside the United Center — Rose’s pop-up flower shop at the Tortoise Supper Club; the premiere screening and panel discussion of his thank you letter to Chicago for the film “Becoming a Rose”; the alumni game at his old high school, Simeon, where OG Wolverine legends played with members of the current team, ranked No. 10 in the Sun-Times Super 25, and Rose’s AAU players, to raise money for charity collect; the floral installation “Roses for Chicago” in Clybourn Park – leading up to his “night,” which symbolized and expressed more of what he really means.

Why time stopped to realize. To conclude – without downplaying concerns about whether or not he should be inducted into the Hall of Fame; without the irrationality of “blaming the victim” when discussing his injuries and what prevented the Bulls from accomplishing; without the relentless attacks that once turned much of this city against him; and, for once, fully and unconditionally considering not only the person and player he was here, but also the inspiration he has become – “Whew, we see you.”