Bookie. Its Ya Birthday.
My son said his own name today. Full name, loud, in the kitchen, for no reason. Just testing it out. And I had to turn around and face the stove for a minute cause it wasnt him I heard.
Thats the thing nobody tell you about naming a baby after somebody you lost. You think you doing it for the one who gone. You not. You doing it for you. So the name stay in ya mouth. So you gotta say it at breakfast, say it in the car, holler it down the hallway when he done something he had no business doing. Bookie been dead too long for how young he was, and his name been alive in my house every single day since my son got here. Thats on purpose. I made sure.
Keenan Cochran. Bookie. Taken way too soon and ion care how many years it been, that phrase still fit.
Yall look at this picture and tell me that aint the whole man right there. Head cocked. Fro out. Jacket open. Chain on. Smiling like he already know what you finna say and he got something slicker to say back. He be having that face. Everybody who knew him know that face.
Today we celebrating. Not mourning, celebrating. Plates, music too loud, somebody’s kid running through the house, somebody’s auntie telling the same Bookie story she tell every year and everybody hollering like it new. Thats what you get. Thats what you deserve.
Keep watching over us Bookie. Watch the lil one extra. He got ya name and I can already tell he got ya mouth.
Love you forever. Happy birthday.
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