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twenty twenty twenty-four hours to go.

Happy what would have been your 24th birthday, Pat! I miss you dude.

I feel your sarcastic older brother guidance all the damn time. I know smoking is bad for me, but your advice just isn’t that convincing when you say it with a cigarette dangling from your lips. I still remember the time you ceremoniously threw out a pack of Newports in front of me, Danny, and Mom just to show us you could quit anytime. Although maybe you just realized what I already knew at age fifteen: Newports suck.

I can still remember what your voice sounds like when you were trying to make a joke, and your stock answer to anyone stating their humble opinion: “Well, your opinion is wrong.”

I can remember exactly what your face looked like when you were lying – the same way it looked when you were trying not to laugh.

Someday I’ll have the strength to think about you as much as you deserve, and write it all down, or dance it all out. I will create something massive and dedicate it to you. But all I can do now is a little reminiscing.

I think of you anytime I see any of the following: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Roger Ebert, horror movies particularly anything Stephen King-related, Archie comics, Tales from the Crypt, Metallica, Slayer, and any metal-ey looking fonts. I have you to blame for my taste for the macabre in film, and probably for my dirty sense of humor (although I think the real culprit for this was Dad).

Thanks for letting me be a tag-along little sister and giving me the most random of memories: the first time ever getting drunk at a bonfire I wasn’t supposed to be at, Mountain Dew-themed parties with chugging contests and Roger Waters DVDs, the Oatmeal Creme Pie-throwing madness of Pattie’s Pancake Posse performances, countless sweaty deadofwinter and between the nightmares shows from the Armistice Room to the Legacy to the funeral home to Hip Christian Churches, and an equal number of post-show gatherings that tested the patience of waitstaff at Denny’s locations everywhere. Once all our best friends were the same people, we couldn’t help but admit we must be friends too, as much as that complicated our years of mutual disdain for one another.

Are you having fun in the free world? How’s your namesake Uncle Pat, and Grandma? Have you written any good music lately? Did you ever figure out what you wanted to do in life, and if so, how does that translate to the afterlife? Do you still drink 3-4 cans of Mountain Dew a day or have you finally grown up and switched to coffee? Are you mad at me about anything? Is there anything I could have done differently? I know I was a tattletale but in the later years I promise it was only in your best interest. (I have no excuse about earlier years when tattling was employed solely to make myself look better.) Also, the “Party Hard” mix you left in my car is dangerously scratched up, is there any way you could hook me up with some more expertly arranged CKY, Andrew W.K. and Faith No More? Let me know.

In honor of Patrick M. Burkett, January 31st, 1986-March 18, 2006:
-My dad’s saxaphone-playing alter-ego “PapaPatty” and the Blues for Patty Project
-A retrospective by my mom Zann Carter, about the years leading up to Patrick’s death
-Light a candle in Patrick’s memory
-Donate to the Patrick M. Burkett memorial fund via The Maple Center.

Images:
1. Pat in Between the Nightmares, taken by Matt Carmer
2. Pat on top of the world, taken by Amanda Jones
3. Pat (age 7) & me (age 5) playing chess, taken by our mom
4. Pat and our friend Katie at deadofwinter’s last show, taken by me
5. Teenage Mutant Ninja Pat! My first tattoo by D’Wan, Under the Gun. Polaroid by me.