He makes me laugh. This picture, especially, because he could not be less gangsta if he tried. Not even if he was Eminem.
He goes to the Botanical Garden with me, without complaint. He does so with my family, without complaint, and when they aren’t looking, he has me take pictures of him- humping a pole.
It’s a bit of a theme, really.
People travel from all over the world to see the Grand Canyon, the caption on his Facebook album of the Grand Canyon? “The Grand Canyon- yep, it’s definitely a big hole in the ground.”
He looks like he is going to kill me as I annoy him. But he doesn’t actually kill me. He just attempts death by eyeball. It is a quasi-effective method of making me less annoying. Unless I am especially annoying that day. Then I am an annoying force of nature. Yet, he doesn’t kill me. He just makes this face.
He also lets me post pictures of him on the internet, with what appears to be a hairy barnacle stuck to his face.
I love him. He is brilliant on levels that I didn’t know actual people were capable. He is unflinchingly political. He is hilarious. Patient. Responsible. Cute as hell. He is five years younger than I am and infinitely more mature. He loves my mother. He yells “Goddamn Motherfucking Shit!” in his sleep. He makes me feel safe.
He is 29 today and I love him a little more, every day.
Happy Birthday, Clay Burke. I love you.